Dark Dawn Revolution
by CrimsonStarbird
Summary: It is not that William does not want to choose the Interim Ruler of Hell, but that he cannot possibly pick one from amongst those he has come to call friends. And while he continues to dream that this delicate equilibrium might last forever, the lords of Hell are about to reveal their hands... and the revolution is beginning.
1. William - ASPIRATION

_**A/N: **So, here we are. My first Makai Ouji fanfic, and my first full-length fic at that (~62,000 words all told, not counting author's notes, which is in a completely different league to anything I've uploaded before). I'll try and keep this introductory note short - well, I always say this, and they're always far too long regardless, so feel free to skip it! I do feel, however, that since this is a decent length thing and anyone who might want to read it ought to be told what they're letting themselves in for (*evil laugh*), there is some admin I'm required to deal with first, so here goes._

_This is based on the anime, not the manga. I haven't read the manga, and thus might contradict it in some places. I might contradict the anime too, but only in very minor ways, and always intentionally. Dark Dawn takes place after episode 10 of the anime and replaces the season ending, so obviously it contains spoilers for basically the entire series. _

_There will be relationships that are yaoi, shounen-ai, BL, however you want to describe it. If you don't like it, don't read it. It will NOT be explicit (if nothing else, that would completely violate the ethic of this show. Also I would never write that...!). I understand it's also customary to state which relationships are going to appear, but I don't really want to do that here, because it's basically giving away the ending. Rest assured that it's not going to stray from what's presented in the anime itself, though it will go further than just hinting at potential relationships (like the show does) and actually resolve them. Needless to say, with that setup, not everyone can have a happy ending..._

_In terms of structure, this is going to be a bit different. There are five chapters, each told from the point of view of a different character. Each chapter will alternate between third-person prose following what that character is doing, and first-person narration, taking on a variety of forms. It did not occur to me that this would make it extremely difficult to string together a linear plot, so after the first two chapters I do relax the structural rules quite significantly, but it was an interesting structure to explore - do let me know what you think!_

_Right, I think I'm pretty much done with the general notes. Congratulations if you survived reading through my ramblings! Just the actual fic to go... ;) I hope you enjoy it!_

_Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own Makai Ouji or any of its characters. Obviously. If I did, this wouldn't be fanfiction - it would be season 2! ~CS_

* * *

_**A/N: **Now onto notes for the chapter... yes, I will probably do this for each chapter if I think there's something that needs saying, sorry! At least it's fairly brief here. One thing I want to justify is my addition of an OC. I'll hasten to add that she's a minor villain (though I am very fond of her!) whose only purpose is to move the plot along for me - she won't be involved in any relationships or anything (*shudder*. Not that I dislike OC fics or anything...) and she certainly won't interfere with the main focus of the story. Except occasionally by showing up and stabbing people :D Now I call her an OC but I really didn't create her... rather, I borrowed her from another show, whose third season was airing at the same time as Makai Ouji, and whose theme of New Hell vs Old Hell was a major influence on this fic. Free virtual cookies for anyone who can work it out! (Hint: as if it isn't obvious enough for anyone who has seen the other show, I didn't even change her name for this, so, you know...). Now... on with the Revolution! :D ~CS_

* * *

**Dark Dawn Revolution**

_by CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

**ASPIRATION**,

or The Deepest Longing Of A Romantic Realist

The Head Boy was not merely _allowed_ to boss the prefects around; at Stradford School, it was an unwritten commandment that he had to do so. Only the best made it to the top, after all, and someone had to remind the prefects, while they were lording it over the lower students, that they were the ones who had almost but not quite made it, and to encourage them to continue striving for a higher position of power. It was a lesson that hardly needed to be taught to the young elite of the British aristocracy, but the Headmaster, charged as he was with raising the next generation of the country's rulers, would not let himself be seen passing up a chance to hammer home that crucial sermon in yet another way.

Sometimes, though, William thought that the Head Boy took things too far.

If visitors respected Nathan Caxton, it was only because they did not know that behind that cool, calm façade hid a demon intent on disrupting William's innocent and harmless life goal of graduating from the school with the best grades and an even better reputation.

If teachers admired him, it was only because they saw the results of the means he used to keep the prefects in line, rather than the cruel political manoeuvring and utter lack of consideration with which he dealt with them.

If students thought him a great and inspiring leader, it was only because he had never sent _them _out to investigate rumours of mysterious activity on the school grounds at midnight. Alone. With no promise of reward or gratitude.

In fact, William had a hunch that the only person who didn't think of the Head Boy as great and inspiring was himself, precisely because the only person Camio ever sent out to do these thankless tasks was him.

He had respected the not-quite-man called 'Nathan Caxton' once upon a time. Top of every exam, looked up to by all the students, and with good relations between himself, the staff, and the important visitors who came to the school, the Head Boy was everything that William had wanted to be. Of course, that was before William had discovered that Nathan was actually the demon Camio, come to Earth in order to make William's life a living hell… or in the hope of being elected as the Interim Ruler of Hell, though those two things had turned out to be one and the same. How difficult could it be to pass every exam when he had already lived through ten times as many years as any man could hope to see?

Over time, William had come to respect Camio again, only for completely different reasons. He might not be as straightforward as Dantalion or Sitri, and his motivations and loyalties were at times unclear to him, but – on a good day – William could feel with some confidence that, even though he didn't understand it, he might have formed a connection with Camio again.

This, however, was not a good day. It was not even a day at all, but a deep, bitter night. It might have been spring, but it was an _English_ spring, and so it came with no guarantee that the temperature would remain above freezing in the dead of night. As the heels of William's boots snapped along the crisp ground, and he pulled his coat closer around him and cursed Camio under his breath, there wasn't a single ounce of that empathy in his mind.

Camio had a whimsical streak that some might call playful and others might call vindictive; rarely-seen, but dangerous when it appeared. Before he had been revealed as a demon, Camio had appeared to show no more than a cursory interest in the young up-and-coming prefect called William Twining, but now that his position was known, he seemed to take a mild amusement in picking on William at every opportunity – and not even rewarding him in the way that any civilized Head Boy should have done, with connections and recommendations. They had a connection, yes, and it transcended the relationship of Head Boy and prefect, or even that of friends. Keepers of a shared secret, actors on this stage of school life while their real lives played out in the tumultuous politics of Hell; they were bound in a way that neither of them could properly describe – but none of that changed the fact that, at that very moment, William resented Camio more than he had thought possible.

His feet knew their way automatically; it was, after all, the third time he had been down to the forests at midnight that month. The fact that the first two trips had turned up nothing out of the ordinary hadn't been enough to convince Camio to have mercy; nor had the fact that William had wanted to get a good night's sleep before the mock mathematics exam tomorrow. Even Isaac, who would normally jump at the chance for an investigation which had a slight chance of supernatural involvement (and who usually didn't care about flunking tests either) had considered passing tomorrow's practise exam too important to jeopardize. Sitri had merely laughed when William had complained to him, and after that, he hadn't even wanted to tell Dantalion. They were probably all in on it, those demons, watching from somewhere and getting a good laugh out of discovering yet another way to disrupt William's dream of a peaceful, ordinary-

Something glinted in the trees up ahead. Now that was interesting. His previous investigations – triggered by complaints from students whose dorms offered views onto the forest in question and Camio's malevolent decision to put William in charge of fixing the situation, despite the fact that he wasn't attached to that dorm or the events in any way – had turned up nothing out of the ordinary, so much so that he had begun to suspect that the reports were being turned in by fellow prefects who were also taking amusement in the Head Boy's torment of the one who always beat them in exams. But if there was actually something here to find, some concrete evidence that the curfew was being ignored or illicit activities were going on here at night, then he could go straight over Camio's head to the Headmaster. That way, there was no way that the demon could cheat him out of any recognition he should get for solving the matter-

Lost in his idle dreams of the power and fame that this one act could bring him, William hardly saw the clawing shadows of the trees closing in around him as his feet carried him impatiently along the path. He did not notice the blur of motion streaking across his vision almost too fast for the human eye to see, nor did he hear the cracking of the earth or sense the momentary collision of worlds which, back in their separate rooms at the school, three other individuals felt like lightning jolting across their senses.

Yet William was not ignorant of his position, nor was he entirely unaware of the constant danger that surrounded him, despite how oblivious he might pretend to be. He had started to develop a sixth sense about these things – not one he often paid attention to, mind, but the adrenaline had set his instincts on high alert. Besides, when alone in an unlit forest at midnight, even the most stubborn realist would heed a supernatural warning.

A jump to his left was all that saved his life. Something long and black streaked through the air and slammed into the ground beside him, throwing chunks of soil as large as his head up into the night. Pale moonlight flickered along a black spear seemingly made of writhing darkness, but only for an instant, as before William could get a good look at the weapon or who had thrown it, it dissolved into nothing.

A quick glance around revealed nothing but the ominous skeletons of trees. "Who's there?" William demanded, with a kind of righteous courage. "Show yourself!"

There was a flash of movement between the trunks of two trees on William's right; this time, with his heart pounding its alertness in his chest, he saw it. He narrowed his eyes at the tree the shadow had vanished behind, but saw no further movement. From his left there came a horrible tormented sound that might have been the wind howling between the budding branches, or might have been laughter.

"You're trespassing on school properly!" William tried again. An onlooker would have thought his voice surprisingly strong. "If you leave now, we won't have to take this matter to the magistrates-"

"Little worm," interrupted a voice that came from everywhere and nowhere. It sounded amused. "Bearer of Solomon's soul, no? Dangerous indeed, but not when alone, I think. How fortunate I am to find you all out here, so very, _very_, alone."

William remained silent. His eyes flickered around for a glimpse of the voice's owner. They were probably using a tool to amplify their voice. Perhaps there was more than one of them. Yes, that was it. Most likely Camio had put them up to it in a more spiteful twist on his usual bossing around-

He took a step backwards and tripped over a tree root. Sprawled on his back, dazed by his head's collision with the trunk of the root's owner, he gazed out past the claw-like branches to the skies above. There, only a few feet away from him, a cloud of darkness was gathering like black smoke contained within some invisible vessel. Numbly, William watched as the darkness spread out into a vaguely human shape, blurring from a featureless cloud into a replica of a human body – a human girl, in fact. If you ignored the small horns, the fangs, the blazing red eyes, and the bright, unnatural green of her equally-unnaturally long and straight hair, it was almost perfect.

Wide-eyed, William could only stare as she leaned forwards until her face was inches from his. Her irises were blood-red, and her thin mouth stretched into a cruel smile as she regarded him. In her hand, dark smoke swirled as if it were a living thing. There was empty air beneath her bare feet; she hovered several inches above the ground. "Goodbye, Solomon," that inhuman girl said.

She drew back and raised her hand, and then a black spear was flying directly towards him. This time, there was nowhere to run.

And William knew that he was going to die at the hands of a creature that didn't even obey gravity.

Well, that was half-right. Of course she had to obey the laws of gravity. They were, after all, universal certainties. She was probably using wires or something. Yes, that tree over there looked like a good place to suspend a stage wire from-

And the part of William's brain which wasn't prone to coming up with a rational explanation for everything regardless of the evidence presented was focussed on the other certainty.

He was going to die.

* * *

_I don't know when and I don't know how, but at some point, I came to love the demons._

_Dantalion, of course; Sitri too; and even Camio, in a strange sort of way. At some point, I stopped resenting their presence in my life. It wasn't as if I had just become used to them – though I certainly have become used to them, it's something more than that. Being hunted by supernatural creatures and saved by demons, occasionally finding myself plucked from my comfortable, safe, familiar home and dropped into a world which couldn't possibly exist – it was hardly the life I would have chosen for myself, and, at some point, I began to grow more and more relieved that I had never been offered that choice._

_I suppose there is more to life than passing exams and graduating at the top, just as there is more to this world than most people will ever know. I had never considered attending Stradford School as an important part of my life. It was nothing more than a tool to get me to Oxbridge, which was in turn a tool to elevate me into elite society, and to begin reclaiming the fortunes and influence that had once belonged to my family. When the demons showed up, school life suddenly became a living nightmare. I had to fit in exam revision between visits from vengeful angels and various assassination attempts on my life from the underworld; try to keep the school in order despite infiltrations by so-called supernatural beings; deal with Dantalion's meathead friends and Sitri's dumb fan club, and the way that a whole host of students had suddenly become antagonistic towards me because of how the two demons paid more attention to me than to them. If only I could have explained that it was unwanted attention! Let them have Dantalion, let them have Sitri, do what you want with them, just take them out of my life-!_

_When had that changed? Why _had_ it changed?_

_I didn't know the answers to those questions. Perhaps I had never really resented them at all. Perhaps I always found it flattering that they would come at my call; that I had a unique kind of authority over them, regardless of my heritage – well, it did come from my supposed heritage as Solomon's descendant at first, though I am willing to believe that that is no longer true. Perhaps it was the power of our shared secret. Perhaps…_

_Perhaps I have become a romantic fool. Just because they no longer constantly badger me to elect them in exchange for saving my life or someone else's; just because they protect me without thought for themselves or their political standing in Hell – it doesn't mean that they've reached the same conclusion as I have. They might be scheming behind my back. They might be trying to find another way to become the Interim Ruler. Just because my refusals to elect anyone no longer have anything to do with my denial of the occult, it doesn't mean that their lapse in reminding me of my duties show that they feel the same way._

_But, at some point, I came to love life with Dantalion, Sitri and Camio. However much they annoy me, I find myself not wanting this to end. When they leave to deal with business in Hell, I am constantly aware of their absence. Without them, life doesn't have the same shine as it does when they are around. They keep things interesting, do my maddening and infuriating friends, and I will never let things go back to how they were._

_Let Camio continue to boss me around. Let him be someone for me to look up to. Let me see the compassion in his eyes when he fights for the few people he cares so very deeply about._

_Let Sitri always be followed about by his fan club. Let him eat all the candy in the school, and flunk his tests so that he might win help from the older students, and add them to his fan club too in the process. Let his arrogance be matched only by his uncanny ability to hide it behind his pretty face and unnatural elegance; let him go on pretending that the temporary alliance with Dantalion for my sake isn't slowly but surely tearing down his aloof façade._

_Let Dantalion declare to the world one more time that I belong to him, and him alone. Let me never lose sight of his loyalty, or his faith, or how he has stayed at my side even though I can see the pain in his eyes every time he looks at me and remembers that I am not his Solomon. _

_Let the world stay like this, just for a little longer. Let this state of affairs, which I have ever so slowly grown to love, hang in this dangerous equilibrium forever._

_I wish I could tell you how I feel. It's easy to pretend to be annoyed by you, since I've had a lot of experience of feeling that way. I guess it is more from habit than anything else, now. I am fonder of your interference and your troublemaking than I can possibly say. I wish I could tell you that, but the words are so difficult to find, and there never seems to be a right time for it._

_As a scientific realist, I could never accept anything that wasn't real – certainly nothing as strange as you – in my life. Yet, somehow, you have become a part of my reality. Living with you has become as natural to me as passing exams; as enforcing the school rules; as being and breathing and loving._

_Yes – don't ever leave me, my beloved demons._

* * *

He also knew that he was not going to die.

The deadly weapon plunged towards William's heart, and rather than thinking about how much he wanted to live, his brain was demanding to know what on earth was keeping Dantalion.

Then he was there. The sense of danger was gone as the forest lit up with Dantalion's presence, shining in the fire which appeared from nowhere and forced back the spear of darkness, strong in the hand which gripped his shoulder reassuringly, filling him with a feeling of warmth and security. Dantalion had come to save him, as he always did. It was something they had both come to accept. While at school and in ordinary life Dantalion's sudden arrival was normally accompanied by a great deal of complaining on William's part, in life-or-death situations such as this, he was always glad to see his demonic protector, even if he couldn't say that either.

The green-haired girl stepped backwards, putting a cautious distance between her and the angry demon. Dantalion was truly a sight to behold when he fought. Fire rippled like water along his ragged black cloak, concealing the hard muscles and well-formed physique that all the other players in the school's rugby team had come to admire beneath the immaculate clothes befitting a Grand Duke of Hell. Out here with only demons and the Elector to see him, the proper grooming expected of a student at Stradford School had been abandoned along with any pretence at being human; sleek silver piercings lined his pointed ears, and beneath his wild black hair, his eyes burned red with the fires of Hell. William stared up at him from the ground, his magnificent protector. When the need arose, Dantalion would leave behind his playful and childish side; throw out all notion of teasing William. Unquestionably loyal, and devoted in a way that even William didn't quite understand, Dantalion was the one upon whom he could always rely to be there right when he was needed.

This time, like the time before, and the time before that, Dantalion did not insist on a promise that William elect him before he fought - in fact, he didn't even bring up the subject. All his attention was focussed on the threat to William's life. With his fingers digging tightly enough into William's shoulder to hurt, he demanded of the intruder, "How dare you harm my Elector?"

The demonic girl did not seem afraid. Instead, she cocked her head to one side, looking at Dantalion with an expression of curiosity and amusement. Without warning, she became a dark blur once more as she rushed towards them, spear of black smoke at the ready, and Dantalion sprung forwards to intercept her. Fire and darkness met in a blinding explosion. William threw up an arm to shield his eyes, and when it seemed safe enough to lower it again, he found himself looking upon a smouldering scene of destruction. Above the circle of blackened trees, many of which were still burning, Dantalion and the other fought with uncontrolled fury, denying those laws of physics which were so dear to William. He had long since given up trying to explain that phenomenon to himself.

"William!" someone shouted. William jerked his head round to see Sitri running towards him across the scorched circle of earth with a speed that the stiletto heels on his white shoes should have forbidden. "Are you all right? William?"

"I'm fine!" he replied. He pushed himself to his feet before Sitri could reach him and offer to help, and he brushed imaginary specks of dust from his coat.

"What happened here?"

"Dantalion happened," William said crisply, pointing at the sky, where the fight continued. Of course it was Dantalion causing the destruction. If they kept this up for much longer they were bound to be discovered by someone influential, and then how would he be able to explain all this away? The demons had nothing to lose, but his tuition and future were at stake here!

As he opened his mouth to begin explaining why the other demon should put aside his rivalry and help Dantalion end this battle as soon as possible, Sitri narrowed those beautiful blue eyes of his, guessing, at the very least, what William wanted him to do. "I wouldn't normally be interested in helping a Nephilim," he sighed wistfully. "Oh, but he is so very crude and rough. I don't think I can sit back and watch this display of brutishness."

Sitri took off in pursuit of the combatants, wind ruffling the feathers in his hair. There was something of a satisfied smirk on William's face as he watched the two demons, enemies in the struggle to become Interim Ruler of Hell, work together seamlessly to bring their opponent crashing down to earth. Dantalion and Sitri landed softly on either side of William, cautiously regarding the smoking crater where they had thrown their defeated opponent. The bright green-haired demon struggled to her feet, smoke rising from her clothes. Despite the bruises decorating her fair skin, she still managed to give a sadistic smile as she sprung back into the air. The black night seemed to liquefy and swirl around her.

"Dantalion, Grand Duke of Hell, chosen of Astaroth, and protégé of Lucifer, no? And Sitri, Viscount and Prince of Hell, nephew of Baalberith, fallen angel, with the blood of Gabriel in your veins? We'll meet again, I think."

"Who are you?" Dantalion roared, fearsome in his determination. "What do you want?"

The girl drew herself up to her full height, blood dripping from the various cuts on her body and steaming where it hit the ground. "My name is Lune," she told him, with a grin that revealed all of her sharp teeth. "As for what I want… or, I should say, what _we_ want…" One hand curled into a fist that punched towards the night sky. "Long live the Dark Dawn Revolution!" she crowed, and then she disappeared into the darkness.

* * *

_Everything changes._

_This isn't the romanticist or poet in me talking – I've had quite enough of that for one day. No, it's a fact of life, plain and simple. And it's one that no one can deny, however much they might wish against it – not even me. There are the little changes, like Kevin coming to live on campus with us, or Miss Mollins leaving the dorms, but ultimately, they don't change that much in life. You adapt, and move on. And then there are the big changes. Something as simple as a word or a gesture, so small at the time, can alter the course of history forever. Those are the moments in which, the romanticist in me would say, destiny is reshaped. Those are the moments that define us._

_I can remember three occasions in my life where a single event changed everything._

_The first was when my parents died. Without a doubt, it shaped the person I would grow up to become. Perhaps, looking back, that was one of the events that made me such a firm believer in science and reality. A scientist would say that the accident which killed them was just chance – it could have happened to anybody, they just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone who believed in fate would have had no choice but to accept that this was God's doing, or the will of the universe, or whatever other nonsense people like Isaac believe in. How could I accept that it was my parents' destiny to die on that day? How could I be that sort of person?_

_The second was the first time I accidentally summoned Dantalion in the basement of my family's manor house. That was the single event that dragged me from my world of exams and science and aristocratic parties and plunged me into a battle between demons. I resisted that change for as long as I could, but, as time passed and they weren't going anywhere, I came to accept Dantalion, Sitri and Camio in my life._

_The third was only a single phrase uttered by a fleeing demon, and it changed everything. I had no way of knowing it at the time, but it was after that day that everything began to fall apart._

Please don't leave me.

_Unable to say those words out loud, I had thought them, and thought them often, in the hope that some dispassionate, secretive god might show some mercy to the one he had cursed with Solomon's soul. Sometimes I think that if I had believed in God – if I hadn't been so determined to believe only in what I could see and explain – he might have answered my prayer. _

"Dark Dawn Revolution."

_Those were the words the demon spoke to Dantalion, Sitri and I. A meaningless phrase; a pointless utterance; three powerful words that meant nothing to me, but would be forever branded onto my mind as the herald of the beginning of the end of my world._

_Just three words._

_And the wonderful, idyllic life I had only just begun to embrace was gone._

* * *

Sitri was looking at Dantalion.

Dantalion was looking at Sitri.

Ordinarily, William wouldn't have cared less that he knew they were keeping something from him, but when both the demons were acting as seriously as this, he knew that something was badly wrong. Once upon a time, he might have made a fuss about scolding the underclassman who thought it would be funny to dress up as a ghost-girl and terrorize the dorms. Even after he had come to accept that there would be supernatural creatures trying to kill him – trying to kill Solomon – he had continued to pretend otherwise. The demons expected it of him; furthermore, there was something indescribable that William liked about the earnest way that Dantalion would reprimand him for his refusal to believe. It was when the laid-back, casual Dantalion Huber vanished, and the raw, pure, passionate demon who desired acceptance by Solomon above all else at last became visible. Even if he, William, had nothing to do with what had happened between Solomon and Dantalion, and did not believe he was really the target of the demon's fervent words, Dantalion's ardent and emotive determination moved him in a way he couldn't explain.

Yet now was not the time for this. The two demons looked worried, and there wasn't much that could faze them. Once William might have been pleased that their confidence had been shaken; now, seeing his friends and protectors so concerned, he was worried too. Trying not to sound overly interested, or overly apprehensive, he asked of the two, "Who was that? What's going on?"

At first, they did not answer him. The familiar feeling of annoyance rising up in William was quickly crushed by the dark look in Dantalion's eyes. "What is this 'Dark Dawn Revolution'?" Silence. Worry drove a reprimanding tone into William's voice. "Dantalion?"

Slowly, Dantalion turned those severe red eyes from Sitri to William. "I don't know."

"Dantalion," Sitri murmured softly.

Dantalion clenched and unclenched his fists. "A group who have no allegiance to any of the four demon lords, or the laws of Hell. Rebellious scum. Unimportant. Not worth paying attention to; never have been, and never will be."

"Why are they going after Solomon? Why now?" Sitri asked, a frown marring his beautiful face.

"Because they're fools," came Dantalion's short reply. It did not fit with the alarm William had seen in his face when Lune had first announced her cause.

Sitri looked sharply at William. "And what would a proper rule-abiding prefect like you be doing out of bounds after curfew?" he asked, with a slight mocking lilt to his voice.

"It's not as if I'm here because I want to be!" William retorted, wrapping his coat more tightly around his body. The cold of the night seemed to have disappeared with the arrival of the two demons - the action was merely to prove his point. "There have been complaints about noises here at night from one of the dorms. The Head Boy sent me out to investigate."

For a moment, Dantalion's eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness. "Did he now?"

"You're not saying that the respectable Head Boy has anything to do with this?" William demanded, the shock in his voice mirrored only by the alarm in Sitri's wide eyes. "Not that there's anything respectable about him sending me out here at this time of night…"

He tailed off when he noticed that the other two were no longer listening, their attention captured by something behind him. The sound of running footsteps came to his ears. Turning, he saw Camio bursting into the still-smoking clearing. Though he was still wearing the Head Boy's uniform, with his demonic nature concealed behind formal human clothes, smart glasses, and calm golden eyes, there was no doubt that he was ready to fight if the need arose. "William?" he inquired.

"I'm fine!" Exasperated, William raised his palms to the sky in an exaggerated shrug, lips turning down into that automatic annoyed expression of his. "No thanks to you sending me out here, though…"

Camio looked to the other two demons, ignoring William's mumbling. "Who was it?"

"No one of any importance," Dantalion answered, before Sitri could speak. "Another fool who thought that the way forwards is to end the life of Solomon's heir."

"Did someone send them?" Camio persisted. His expression held no more than mild curiosity; his voice was even. William still could not read him like he had come to be able to read Dantalion. "Lord Baalberith? Were they working for anyone? Did they say anything?"

Folding him arms, Dantalion gave a smirk that William realized, with a sudden chill, was faked. "They didn't get the chance."

Sitri looked as if he was about to interject, but after a curious glance towards Dantalion went unanswered, he closed his mouth without speaking. It was unlike Sitri to defer to the other demon; another warning sign that William noted and then pushed aside, as if doing so would make a bad situation go away.

A crease appeared on Camio's forehead, but he gave a single nod. "I see."

There was a brief moment of silent hostility between them, and William shivered. In part because it was true, but in part to change the subject as well, he said, "I know that you may not care about education here, but I have a mathematics exam tomorrow, and my future depends on my results here! I'm going back to bed."

"You're right, it's past curfew," Camio responded coolly. He extended a hand out towards William. "Come along, William."

More than anything in that moment, William wanted to look to Dantalion for guidance - yet to look back would have been a sign of weakness that someone destined for a place amongst society's elite couldn't possibly afford to show. Besides, why did he need the demon's approval? With a nod, he reached out and took Camio's hand, and the Head Boy and the prefect walked together in silence towards the dark shadow of the school dormitories.

William did not look back, and Dantalion did not call to him, but he could feel Dantalion's gaze burning into his back with every step he took.

* * *

_There have only been two instances in my life when I haven't come top of the class in an exam._

_Well, the first time doesn't really count. Since I was framed for cheating by an all-powerful archangel with millennia of knowledge under his belt and an unhealthy love for deception, it was hardly my fault, and I refuse to have it held against my record._

_The second time doesn't really count either, because I was too distracted by thoughts of that look on Dantalion's face, and the way he and Sitri had shown outright suspicion towards Camio. I trusted Camio instinctively, just as I trusted Dantalion and Sitri with my life. He had always been hard to pin down, and he had never been as close to me as the others had, but I didn't want to believe anything bad about him. I _couldn't. _I loved him as much as I loved the others; he was as much a part of my life as they were. I only wish that he would show me that he felt the same about me._

_Thus my mind went round in circles, wondering if Dantalion's clear suspicions had any ground; trying to justify Camio's distant nature and strange actions before the doubts crept back in. I had never thought that anything the demons did would affect me so deeply that an actual exam seemed trivial in comparison to the turmoil in my head. Still, it had, and how could anyone hope to perform to the best of their ability on a test in such a state?_

_Or, at least, that was what I tried to convince myself of as an excuse. In reality, I think I had sensed even then that something had begun that could not be stopped. Things were changing; the equilibrium, that delicate power balance, that I had come so late to appreciate, was already beginning to break. _

_And there was only one way that this could end._

Don't ever leave me, my beloved demons.

_If I can bring myself to say it out loud, will that make it come true?_


	2. Uriel - CASTIGATION

_**A/N: **So, after writing about 700 words of author notes for Aspiration, I find myself with pretty much nothing else to add for this chapter (you'll be glad to hear). Kevin is my least favourite of all the main characters, mostly because I never quite understood his mindset. This is as much my attempt to untangle his thinking as it is to add another chapter to this story... so I hope it's not *too* bad a portrayal of his character (though I'll accept that it does go off in a slightly more clichéd direction than suggested in the anime, because it works better that way with what comes later on...). Michael, on the other hand, was awfully fun to write. What can I say? I have a thing for slightly psychopathic characters ;) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! ~CS_

* * *

**Dark Dawn Revolution**

_by CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

**CASTIGATION**,

or The Punishment Of A Heartbroken Angel Under The Sign Of The Cross

_Please, my God, tell me what I should do._

The school chapel was silent and cold, and empty save for one shadowy figure kneeling before the altar. Seeing a clergyman praying was not unusual; the time of day made it slightly more peculiar, but as it was the campus pastor's job to keep the candles in the church burning as a light of hope throughout the long nights, no student wandering past the chapel late that evening would have questioned his wakeful presence.

The not-quite-man who called himself Pastor Kevin Cecil had a very good reason for being awake that night, although he might have found it difficult to explain had any student have asked. Like the demons, he too had sensed the opening of a portal to Hell – had been affected by it worse than the others, since it meant the shattering of the delicate holy barrier he had placed around the school in a vain attempt to stop this sort of thing from happening. The shock from the breaking of his magic and the overwhelming urge to run out and throw himself between the enemy demon and his certain target had left him trembling uncontrollably. Kneeling on that cold stone floor in the dark, empty chapel, doing his best to turn his turbulent thoughts away from William and back to God, was the only thing that could bring him some measure of calm.

He hated how he had to keep up this pretence; how he could do nothing but hide here and leave everything in the hands of the demons. Every minute that passed, when he knew there was a battle raging out there with William at the centre, passed by like an age. He did not stop praying for William to be brought back safely.

He felt the portal close; discerned with some relief that the dark presences left on school campus had reduced back down to the three he recognized and had been forced to accept. Surely if the demons were alright, then William would be too – and what a fine state of affairs this was, relying on the demons to keep his master safe!

Long after they had returned to the dorm, he continued to kneel there, taking in the eerie chill of the chapel. A measure of calm had returned to him, but along with it came the growing sense of doom. This could not go on forever. Something was bound to give-

The candles in the chapel flickered. His heart skipped a beat as he registered the presence of another person in the room with him, and his eyes widened momentarily. He had not heard them approach - likely they hadn't arrived in such a mundane way as walking. His silent breathing quickened; an invisible hand seemed to have tightened around his windpipe. In his worry about William, his almost-impeccable control had deserted him.

For one of them to dare to come to the chapel… something was wrong, very wrong. He remained still for a moment, kneeling with his back to the intruder, pretending that he hadn't noticed them and considering his options. Could he win in a fight? This was his territory, a sacred place where the powers of the demons were weakened and his own were amplified. Yet he was not whole either. Never again would he be as powerful as he had once been in Heaven, not since Holy Michael had torn off one of his wings and thrown him out. Michael was probably watching – Michael was _always_ watching – but the odds of him stepping in to help were small enough to be non-existent. The archangel would find far more pleasure in watching him be thoroughly beaten by a demon.

Still, if the demon was here to fight, wouldn't he have attacked already? He was keeping his distance, waiting to be noticed. Besides, they hadn't shown sights of hostility before. He tolerated them, and they tolerated him – wasn't that how their unspoken agreement went?

Slowly, he stood up, turning round to acknowledge the demon standing in the aisle. "Camio, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

The demon had come before him unafraid, abandoning the visage of Head Boy and appearing in the full regalia of a Great President of Hell. Gone were the soft eyes and polite, mild-mannered temperament of Nathan Caxton; the demon taking his place was a lot more complex. Shadows moved in those unreadable golden eyes, though his expression was sincere. A glowing green blade rested at his right hand, yet he made no move to attack. Camio was the only one of the three demons who had known who Kevin really was immediately, and he was the one that he most feared. Dantalion had once saved his life for William's sake; he did not think that Camio would do the same. Who could tell what that mysterious demon was thinking?

Camio inclined his head. "Uriel." The two stared at each other for a moment, a wary separation between them. Then the demon scowled, and asked bluntly, "Do you have the ring?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Uriel replied, a little too quickly.

Camio's eyes narrowed. "I believe that you do." There was another tense silence. "You have it, don't you?"

"No."

"You lie."

"I do not. I did have it, but no longer."

"Then where is it?"

"I returned it to its proper owner."

Camio's eyes widened; the other felt a small rush of satisfaction. "William has it?" the demon demanded. Uriel gave a sincere nod, at which Camio turned away, a grimace on his face. Though the demon had always been hard to read, his anger was starting to show through – and something else: worry. Something was scaring Camio. "He doesn't."

"I'm sorry?"

"He doesn't have it any more."

"Why do you say that?"

"Just a hunch," Camio muttered, narrowing his eyes. The glowing blade disappeared from his hand and he sat down on one of the benches, resting his head on his hands and staring at nothing in particular.

Uriel asked, "What happened tonight?"

"Nothing of any importance."

"Then why did you really come here?"

"It doesn't matter." Standing up once more, Camio turned to leave.

He made it halfway to the door before Uriel said, "Dark Dawn Revolution."

Camio froze. Now, Uriel sensed danger. The balance of power had shifted; this confrontation could go either way.

Yet the demon didn't turn round, and his neutral tone gave nothing away. "Where did you hear those words?"

"I merely caught them in passing. What are they after?"

Now Camio did turn round, his cloak flowing out behind him. Once again, his sword was in his hand; when a Great President of Hell was armed and angry, only a fool would try to mess with him. Uriel was no fool, but he _was _desperate, and he was worried. He held his ground as Camio snarled, "The affairs of Hell are none of your business!"

"Anything concerning William is my business, as his friend-"

"As a pawn of Heaven!"

"How dare you suggest such a thing?" Uriel hissed.

This gave Camio pause. It was true that they had a common interest. That was why they were talking now rather than fighting, why Uriel tolerated the demons' presence in the school, and why they let him be. To accuse him of faithlessness would be akin to accusing himself – or so Uriel hoped he would think. Perhaps Camio's silence meant at heart he was closer to Dantalion's way of thinking than Uriel had dared to think before.

"I don't know what they want," the demon began cautiously. "No one does, not really. Until recently, they were nothing at all. They… want to change the balance of power in Hell. To free us from Solomon's contract, I think."

"So they went after William."

Camio didn't answer. His thoughts were a long way away.

"Do you think they have the ring? It will make them formidable," Uriel mused aloud. To himself, he thought, _they must have help from someone high up to know about it. A demon lord, perhaps, or worse… _He glanced at Camio, frowning as he did so._ Someone close to William? Are they going to try and take his soul? _With this thought came a twinge of guilt that he pushed away as quickly as it had come.

"Don't get involved," Camio told him abruptly. The look in his eyes made it clear that this was more than just a piece of friendly advice. He hadn't become a Great President through chance; though normally docile, when he wanted to be dangerous, he could be. "Don't even think about looking into this. It doesn't concern you. No – there's something you'll do for me."

"Oh?"

"I'm going to find out what's going on. Watch over the Elector. They came after him once; they'll likely do so again." Uriel nodded. For him, that went without saying. "And keep an eye on the other two – Dantalion, Sitri. If they mention anything to do with this, let me know immediately. Is that understood?"

Interesting. Uriel folded his arms. "Why should I do that?"

"We're aiming for the same thing here. We're not on the same side, but while we want the same goal, don't you agree we should do more than just tolerate each other?"

Mildly, Uriel responded, "I don't believe we do want the same thing. You, for instance, seek to become the Interim Ruler of Hell. I have no such desires."

"William," Camio stated, and Uriel flinched. It was the only word that they ever needed to use. Yes, they understood each other perfectly, demon and angel. "Do we have a deal?"

"Very well," Uriel agreed, with only the barest of hesitations. The repercussions would come later; when it came to Solomon, it would not be the first time – nor the last – he would act rashly. They shook hands. "We are not friends, demon," he added coldly.

"That will not matter, when they make their move." And with that last, ominous line, Camio was gone.

Uriel slipped his hands into the voluminous pockets of the priest's robes he wore, staring thoughtfully at the doors that the demon hadn't bothered to use. It was interesting, very interesting. And it left him in an interesting position, too. He had never thought to deal with demons, and if that idea might have occurred to his subconscious mind, it certainly would not have been Camio that he thought would seek him out. Who knew what was on that demon's mind? It was interesting… and suspicious. He would have to stay alert and on his guard to beat the demons at their own game – for himself, for Heaven, and for William.

Not for the first time that evening, a chill settled over him as his thoughts turned to William.

_A prison I have built with my own two hands._

Things were already bad. If he didn't move soon, it would be all over for him.

And Uriel glanced at the single white feather drifting down through the air in front of him, and he knew that things were about to get a whole lot worse.

* * *

_Dear God, I have built this prison with my own two hands._

_I should have told him from the start. I should have told him on the night his parents died. I should have told him who I really was, and even if he had rejected me for it, maybe he might have come to accept me again with time. But I didn't. I thought, in my foolishness, that by lying to him and deceiving him about the true nature of this world you created, I could keep him away from the truth. I was such a fool. Solomon's blood is strong, and never has it been stronger than in William Twining. For my arrogance, I have punished myself far, far better than you ever could._

_Even then, you offered me a chance of redemption, did you not? I could have told him the first time that Dantalion appeared in the manor. In the end I hadn't been able to keep him away from the demons, and it was ironic that my failure to do so offered a way out from my greatest mistake. When they arrived, William was forced to accept the reality of Heaven and Hell. I could have told him then._

_But, once again, I did not. It was for William's sake. His life had already been turned upside-down; I did not want to make things worse by revealing that the only person he trusted in this turmoil was as much a part of it as the demons were. Besides, revealing my true self to him then would have forced him to choose between the angels who envied and feared Solomon, and the demons who were bound to serve him. It would have been cruel to force such a choice upon him when he was only just beginning to understand the war he had been born into._

_That's what I told myself._

_In reality? I was a coward. I know that now, and I have to live with that knowledge every day of my life. I decided not to present him with that choice not because I was concerned for him, but because I was worried for myself. What would I have done if he had rejected me? What if he had chosen the demons over me? What if he had shunned me; blamed me for everything; hated me for lying to him? I did not tell him the truth because I was scared of being rejected, just as Solomon had rejected me so many years ago._

_I am a coward._

_And with every day that passes I see William standing by the side of the demons who, for all their dark natures, had not once lied to him about themselves, and I feel a little further away from the boy that I had come to love as I watched him grow up, and I grow a little colder inside._

_And with every day that passes like this, telling him the truth becomes a little harder._

_How can I blame you, my God? It is my fault, my punishment: I deserve it completely and utterly._

_I have built this prison with my own two hands._

* * *

Michael's foot crashed down between Uriel's shoulder blades, sending him sprawling to his knees. With a yelp of surprise and pain, Uriel struggled automatically, but Michael simply pushed down harder, forcing him down against the cold stone floor. Uriel's eyes watered with humiliation, and he was almost glad that his face was pressed into the stones, so that Michael might not see. But Michael _knew_, he _always_ knew; that was why he did it. He didn't need to see it to take pleasure in Uriel's suffering. Nor did Uriel need to look at the archangel's face to know the bright, sadistic grin that accompanied his ringing laughter; it was as familiar to him as was the holy sign of the cross.

"My, my, Uriel, how far we have fallen! It is not bad enough that you content yourself with living amongst these demon scum, but now you are making deals with them!"

"Lord Michael," Uriel choked.

After a moment's consideration, Michael removed his bare foot from the other's back, yet Uriel remained prostrate of his own free will. Michael continued, in that mocking way of his, "I would say that you forget your place, but then you don't really have one any more, do you?"

Once, that might have made Uriel angry, but he had almost grown used to it. He raised his head slightly to see the archangel sat on one of the arms of the great cross behind the altar. Only Michael would commit such sacrilege; only he, permitted as he was to judge sinners in God's name, was above divine punishment. Pale moonlight, turned to a silvery rainbow by the windows, rippled along his pure white wings. Eternally young, and radiating a brilliant holy light for those who could sense such things, only the sadistic gleam in his startlingly-red eyes showed the other side of God's chosen warrior that Uriel knew better than anyone.

"Why have you returned from Heaven?" Uriel whispered.

Michael grinned. "Things are changing, my dear Uriel. Do you feel it? No longer shall we be fighting eternally over Solomon's soul."

_Did_ he feel it? Not until an hour ago, he hadn't. Not until Camio had so brazenly made contact. Not until Michael, who rarely descended from Heaven, had shown up on the same day. If this meant that something was about to happen, then it was_ big_; for him not to have heard of it until now, whoever was orchestrating it was influential indeed.

With a feeling of dread, he murmured, "Dark Dawn?"

"Very good, Uriel, very good. How _did _you hear about that?"

When he had spoken those words earlier, it had been nothing more than a lucky guess. That they had struck some deep chord with the demon had been as much a surprise to him as it had been to Camio. _The affairs of Hell_, Camio had said. If it was a scheming group in Hell, then how was an archangel so well informed about it? Uriel himself had only heard about it from Raguel's report, in which he had confessed that he knew nothing about it except for the rumour of the name, which had begun to be whispered in the shadows. He dared not ask Michael directly; that was not the sort of thing you did when you valued your life or your rank. That was something he had learnt the hard way.

Cautiously avoiding the archangel's question, Uriel vaguely inquired, "Then what is about to happen, my lord?"

"What do you think is going to happen?" was Michael's easy reply.

Was it possible to win Michael's support? Probably only if he was already willing to give it. Uriel frowned at the floor. "The demons don't need the Elector as a man - they only require Solomon's soul. It is no secret that half of Hell wants to be free from the ancient contracts they made… why would they not want to kill the Elector and take his soul before he elects a ruler and restarts the cycle?" He tried to keep the shivers running through his body out of his voice, though it mattered not. He could not keep secrets from Michael, no matter how hard he tried.

From his perch upon the cross, the archangel laughed, causing Uriel to flinch. Fortunately, he seemed content to keep his distance – for the time being at least. "Obvious, Uriel; too obvious," he crowed. "Who said anything about Solomon?"

Uriel's eyes widened. "But…"

"If I were to give you a friendly warning," Michael continued, in the same light, dangerous voice, "I would advise you to sit this one out. Yet I seem to recall that you are notoriously bad at taking my advice. If you had secured Solomon's soul for Heaven the first time I told you to, all this may have been avoided."

Hidden within his wide clerical sleeves, Uriel clenched his fists. It was an almost automatic reaction. Michael would have expected anger; he wouldn't have brought up that subject otherwise. Yet anger was the last thing on his mind at that moment. This was the second time he had been warned off the matter of this so-called Dark Dawn Revolution in under ten minutes, and when demons and angels were thinking alike, trouble was never far away.

"So I suppose I shall have to be more direct with you."

In one easy movement, the archangel bounded down from his perch and crouched in front of Uriel's kneeling form. With his right hand he turned Uriel's chin upwards so he had no choice but to look into Michael's eyes, far too close for comfort. "Let me put it this way. You'll go back to doing whatever it is that you're doing here, and you won't concern yourself with my affairs. Is that understood?"

"What would cause you to deal with demons?" Uriel hissed.

Michael smirked. His free hand wrapped around Uriel's neck and he stood up abruptly, dragging the other with him. "What else? Family business."

He let Uriel splutter for a bit before releasing him. Still he did not back away, and the next thing Uriel knew, Michael's left hand was pressing against the part of his back where, in his angelic form, his single remaining wing would have sprouted from. He shuddered uncontrollably, closing his eyes so that he didn't have to see the look on Michael's face. "If you continue to pursue this – if you dare to breathe a word of this to those demons or to the Elector – well, you know what'll happen, don't you?"

Uriel didn't respond – couldn't – but Michael was satisfied. He stepped away, taking to the air. "You're a fool, Uriel," he called. "Your jealousy towards Solomon; your infatuation with his current incarnation; your alliances with the demons – what are you hoping to achieve? Do you think of betraying God? Of betraying _me_? I can only hope that you yet remember where your loyalties lie."

And with that warning, and that open threat, Michael was gone in a flurry of snow-white feathers, leaving Uriel alone with his troubles.

* * *

_Please, my God, tell me what I should do._

_Where _do_ my loyalties lie?_

_I do not trust Michael. He is my superior; the holiest of all the angels. When he gives me an order, I must follow it… and yet when have you ever taught us blind loyalty? I cannot follow him without question, and now that I think I understand what he is after, I can do nothing _but _question. If he wishes to punish me, if he wishes to cast me out; if that is _your_ wish – then so be it. I cannot…_

_But I will, won't I? Never have I stood up to him, not even for William's sake. I'll stay here and I'll do nothing, for the sake of Heaven, for the greater glory of God and the angels._

_No – I'll stay here because I am a coward. Such has it always been._

_I do not trust the demons either. Whatever Michael may imply, I would never turn my back on Heaven like that. But I do think that I understand them. I know that they know the one thing that Michael will never understand: William is not Solomon. And it is William, not Solomon, that they are fighting for, whether they recognize that or not. Camio was right when he said that we wanted the same thing. We want to protect William, and that is the truth. We are not, and never will be, allies, but William needs them around more than I need to get rid of them._

_Oh, but how I hate them._

_Knowing that I must leave his safety in the hands of demons because I am too afraid to show him my true face gives me a feeling of such guilt that I do not have the words to explain it. Knowing that they are out there protecting him while I hide away in my prison and do nothing is the worst punishment anyone could have inflicted upon me. Knowing that they do not have to hide their true natures around him, as I do, is the cruellest of torments._

_I tell myself that knowing he is safe is enough, but it is not. I want to be accepted. I _need_ to be accepted. _

_William… I will never be worthy of you, will I?_

_I do not like what Michael is up to. He schemes like a demon, and that is not how we of Heaven are supposed to fight our battles. If I share his secrets with the demons, will they protect William?_

_Yet I do not want the demons to have him. I want to protect him myself. If Michael carries out what he has promised, I will never get the chance to be with William again._

_What should I do?_

_Please, my God… Give me one more chance._

_Tell me what I should do._

* * *

The morning sun found Uriel kneeling once more before the altar. The candles were unlit, despite the cloudiness of the dull spring morning; the scattered notes for his morning service were as unfinished as they had been the previous day. He had not slept but prayed instead, and still he had received neither inspiration nor heavenly sign. Likely Michael was watching him from somewhere up in Heaven, laughing in that cruel way of his.

The arrival of the students for the service was the only thing that caused him to move from that position and take his place by the lectern, with his joints aching and his head a million miles away from the small church. He improvised his speech without concentrating. The demons weren't in attendance, of course, but Uriel's gaze kept drifting to William as he half-listened, half-dozed on a bench near the back. He didn't mind this – a self-proclaimed scientific realist could not believe in God any more than he believed in magic and ghosts, after all, and besides, he was fond of his young master and his habits. What bothered him was the rush of sorrow he felt every time he looked at William, and the growing anger at his own inability to do anything.

When the morning service was over, he left the students to file out of the chapel and turned his attention back to the altar and its great holy cross. Immediately, he was lost back in his turbulent thoughts.

All of a sudden the church doors were thrown open with a crashing thud. Startled, Uriel jumped and turned to see what was going on with an agility that a human shouldn't have possessed, yet the young student running towards him along the aisle was far too preoccupied to have noticed.

"Pastor Cecil! Come, quick!"

"What's going on?" Uriel demanded, but the boy was already running back outside. Alarmed, his thoughts jumped to William and his heart lurched in his chest. He gritted his teeth. There were hundreds of students in the school, and besides, it was probably something entirely unrelated-

But, of course, it wasn't.

A group of students had formed a semi-circle against one of the walls. Uriel pushed his way through to the front, and when he saw what was going on, his eyes widened in shock.

Dantalion had Camio by the throat and was pinning him to the wall. The Head Boy was struggling and gasping for breath, though his eyes never left Dantalion's once, as if he was trying to make him stop through force of will alone. William and Sitri were both trying to pull Dantalion away, shouting and screaming for him to stop, but even in his human form he was stronger than both of them. If the watching crowd had known the true danger, they would have tried to stop Dantalion too, but all they saw was the captain of the rugby squad fighting the Head Boy, and it was far too interesting to watch for them to try and prevent it.

Yet Uriel – and William and Sitri – knew that if Dantalion lost control again, or if Camio used his powers to fight back, everything would end then and there.

"What are you scheming?" Dantalion was demanding in a deadly hiss that could somehow be heard over the roars of the assembled crowd. "You-"

Whatever might happen to him, Uriel could not let this continue. "Enough!" he yelled, as loudly as he could. He did not dare to try and pull Dantalion away while the demon was in such a state that even William couldn't control him, but the commanding tone in his voice was enough to draw his attention. "Stop this now! There will be no fighting on school premises!"

Dantalion took one look at Uriel, and for a heart-stopping moment, he saw the utter disdain in the demon's eyes and truly believed that he would continue until either he or Camio were dead, regardless of the consequences. Then the demon relaxed his grip and let Camio fall to the floor, where he remained, nonchalant and calm, watching Dantalion with a ghost of scorn hidden in his golden eyes.

"If you dare-" Dantalion hissed.

"Leave it, Dantalion!" Sitri begged.

Uriel turned to the assembled crowd. "Leave, all of you!" he ordered. Grumbling, the students dispersed, many voicing their disappointment that the fight had been broken up. Only when they were all out of earshot did he turn back. Camio was on his feet again, brushing himself down. He was entirely unafraid of Dantalion's rage.

Uriel spoke coldly. "If you want to fight, take it elsewhere. Is that understood?"

Dantalion just gave that dangerous, uncontrollable scowl of his. Unperturbed, Camio warned, "Watch yourself, Dantalion."

Dantalion turned to leave. "Come along, William."

William looked almost apologetically at Camio, who blinked once, as difficult to read as ever. "Are you all right?"

"Of course. I'm fine."

"But…"

"William!" Dantalion commanded.

There was rebellion in William's eyes; a look that Uriel knew very well. Whether it came from his heritage as King Solomon's heir, or from his more mundane goal of becoming a powerful and influential aristocrat, William did not like to take orders from anyone. Yet, to Uriel's surprise, after the briefest of moments the look was gone, and William was walking away with the demon.

Before he had time to ponder what that meant, William paused and looked around.

He said, "Thank you, Kevin."

And, feeling as if the world was shaking underneath him, Uriel knew that this was his last chance.

* * *

_Kevin Cecil is my salvation, and my damnation._

_As Kevin, I can be close to William. I can be someone he can trust. I can be someone he can depend on. While I pretend to be the man called Kevin, I can be at his side, as I have been for almost all of his life. _

_While I am Kevin, I cannot be myself. He is someone I am not._

_I have come to envy the man called Kevin Cecil. Kevin has been accepted by William; is trusted by him. Kevin can stand by him and not be rejected._

_And the person that William is accepting is a fake. _

_I, as Uriel, must keep my distance._

_When I can only be considered William's friend by lying to him, what kind of person am I?_

_I have come to hate Kevin Cecil. He is the prison I have built. After all, the more that William comes to care for him, the further away from him I truly become. I watch through Kevin's eyes, I speak with Kevin's voice, and yet, I am not him. I can never be him. The person that William trusts is not real. _

_Or, am I the one who is not real? What is the point in Uriel's existence? Dantalion saved my life once because, to him, I was simply Kevin. William comes to Kevin for help, not to Uriel. What am I actually good for? Back then, I was jealous, not worthy of being at Solomon's side. And now? Now that I have had so many years to think and seek redemption, what have I done to change that?_

_Nothing. I am a coward._

_I will never be worthy of William. Not while Kevin exists. Perhaps Kevin has already existed for so long that I have come to rely upon him as a face I can hide behind forever. If that is true, then I will never be free._

_Dear God, I asked you for guidance, because I am pathetic._

_Students at this school often come to me for spiritual guidance when they are lost. They come seeking a priest, they find an angel, but what difference does it make? I cannot help them any more than I can help myself. People have to find their own way forwards without relying on you… they must find their own way to your heaven. Is that not your teaching? And it holds just as true for me._

_The only person who can save me from Kevin – who can save me from my own cowardice – is myself. That is what I would say to someone who came to me for guidance. It is easy to say, and difficult to do. They rely on me to tell them what is right, but I do not know myself. Obeying Michael is right; he is the most holy of all the angels. Aiding demons is wrong. But it is never that simple. My head tells me one thing; my heart tells me another. Why would you give us thought if we were not meant to question; why would you give us a heart if we were not meant to love? I love my God and I love my Heaven with everything that I am, but I also love William._

_And what I want, more than anything else, is to be worthy of him._

_Is it right for me to follow my heart and choose him? No – if I can help him, then it _is _right. I will make my own decisions, for William, for Heaven, and for myself._

_I'll do something to help. I'll do what I believe to be right. If that means rebelling against Michael and losing my other wing, then so be it. Perhaps then I can make him understand. There is more to this than retrieving Solomon's soul; more to this, even, than crushing the demons for good._

_Please, my God, grant me the strength to break free of this prison. Let me do what is best for William. He has suffered enough. _

_And even if I can never face him as myself, even if I can never know him as Uriel, let me show that I am worthy of him. _

* * *

"One moment please, Caxton."

Camio paused. "I'm fine, really."

"No, not that. While you're here, there is a question I'd like to put to you."

"Oh?" The demon's voice was as neutral as ever. Was there an unspoken warning in his eyes? Yet his body language suggested that, as per usual, he was calm and controlled. The same could not be said for the other students, who had stopped to listen intently, possibly in the hope of seeing another argument. Dantalion's fingers were digging into William's arm, though all his attention was focussed on Uriel; when William pulled himself free, he appeared not to notice.

Aware that everyone's attention was upon him, Uriel folded his arms. "It's a question that was posed to me by a fellow clergyman, concerning… the New Testament. I've heard that you are an excellent theologian, and I would be interested to hear your thoughts on the matter."

"I'll do my best."

"Very well. Given the current state of affairs as presented in the Bible, if Lucifer were to die, who would stand to gain the most?"

"I would say that that is impossible, for it goes against God's will, does it not?"

"It is a purely hypothetical question."

Camio's eyes narrowed. Uriel ignored the questioning stares of the others; the confusion in William's eyes. His gaze was fixed on Camio's, silently begging him to understand. Surely, of all of them, Camio was the one who could figure it out? And if not him, the others? It was all he could do with William listening… it was all the help he could offer to demons.

"I'd have to think about it," came Camio's neutral reply. Uriel had no idea if he had got the message or not. All he could do was pray – pray that the demon had understood, and pray that it was the right thing to do.

* * *

_I swore once that I would never let the demons have you, but I would rather you were alive and happy in Hell than dead, or suffering under Heaven's control. Does that make me a traitor? Perhaps. But I want what's best for you. Kevin always has desired for you to be happy; it was something that I never had to pretend. Maybe I cannot save the world – maybe I cannot even save you. After all, I am a pathetic coward; an angel who would rather be human if it meant I never had to leave your side. But I will try, I promise. And even if I can never look upon you as myself, or hold you with these tainted hands ever again, I will accept that fate in return for your safety, and your happiness. _

_I leave your fate in their hands, William. I believe that you will be safe with them. I won't ever make you choose between the demons and myself, because I can see how much they mean to you. But William – please don't forget me. I'm sorry that I've lied to you all these years. If we meet again, I swear that I will tell you everything. If I am lucky enough to see you again, then I will be worthy of your affection, I promise._

* * *

"Is there anything else, Pastor Cecil?"

"No, that is all. Thank you."

Camio departed. Dantalion and Sitri conversed in low, urgent voices. William, still shaking from the fight that had almost broken out, reprimanded Dantalion loudly.

Yet it was no longer Uriel's business, and he left them to their conversation, returning to his chapel with a lightness in his heart that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was the first step towards breaking free; the first change to the uneasy status quo that had held for so long on the school campus. It was the first step towards becoming the person he wanted to be for William.

He made it about halfway along the aisle before Michael caught him.

"I was really hoping that you would betray me, Uriel," came that gleeful voice from the rafters.

Uriel glanced upwards to look, recognizing his mistake a moment too late. Momentarily blinded by the archangel's brilliant white wings, he failed to move quickly enough, and Michael's bare foot crashing down on his shoulder forced him to his knees in submission. As his head hit the stone floor, the world seemed to swim around him, and for a moment there was nothing but a cascade of falling stars. Then Michael landed heavily on his back, his wings spread above the two of them, and the pain brought his head back to the real world and a stifled cry to his lips.

"I never believed you were loyal, not after you failed to bestow ecstasy upon Solomon. Heaven does not need traitors like you, who are willing to sell out to demons for the sake of a mere human boy."

Uriel twitched, but he could not move; his mouth was open, but he could manage nothing more than a handful of desperate, wordless breaths.

"And do you think you've achieved anything?" Michael laughed. "Do you really think they'll understand? And do you really think they'll act on it for the sake of a pathetic, disgraced angel, who cannot even save himself? Even you cannot comprehend the magnitude of what is going to happen, my dear Uriel. You are unfit to be a part of Heaven's final victory."

"You're wrong," Uriel murmured.

"Am I now? You've had this coming, Uriel. Do you think I cannot see what is in your heart? I'm sick of looking at you."

Though he could see nothing but the drab grey of the stone slabs in front of his eyes, Uriel could hear the crackling of dark-violet energy as Michael summoned it to his hand. He could have fought back. He wouldn't have won, not against the archangel, but he could have showed some resilience; showed that he believed whole-heartedly in his course of action. Yet Michael was still his lord, and he still loved him, even if they disagreed on some things. He would not raise a hand against him, just as he did not intend to raise a hand against Heaven, or become the traitor that Michael was suggesting he already was.

And it was with a resigned serenity that Uriel discarded his pride and closed his eyes. When the pain came, he didn't really feel it. He was almost at peace with himself. Almost – there was much that he still needed to do, if there was enough of him left to do anything once Michael was through with him. But for the first time since coming to serve William, he felt that maybe the prison was beginning to crumble, and maybe, if he had the courage, he would be able to find the strength to break free.

* * *

_Dear God…_

_No, dear William. If I can prove myself worthy, will you ever forgive me?_


	3. Camio - LAMENTATION PART 1

_**A/N: **Well. Time for a change of pace. This was the first time that I really began to connect with this story on an emotional level... you'll see. _

_Lamentation is the longest part so far, so will be split into three sections: Part 1, Interlude, and Part 2. There's a little bit of jumping around in time this chapter, but nothing that needs explaining, I don't think. What I do want to talk about is a slight formatting... thing... that appears in Camio's narration: the occasional word in brackets that appears with line breaks to separate the text (you'll know what I mean when it appears). This is something that Stephen King uses in the Dark Tower series when a character is thinking something without always consciously making the link to it (O Discordia!). I can't explain it very well but it makes sense in his prose, trust me! I began employing the same technique here without even realizing it, and chose to leave it in, because it seemed to fit. Here, I think it indicates what Camio is really thinking as he writes, even though he ultimately crosses those words out or writes others in their place... though you can really interpret it however you would like. It doesn't look so great in the double-space formatting that the website enforces, but there you go. Anyway, whether you like it or not, I hope you enjoy the chapter! ~CS_

* * *

**Dark Dawn Revolution**

_by CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

**LAMENTATION PART 1**,

or The Final Cry Of A Very Kind And Very Lonely Demon

It is early in the morning; too early for the sun to have considered waking, yet late enough so that even the most rebellious students breaking curfew to hold midnight parties have long since given up and turned in for the night. The school's ancient buildings are dark shapes under the bright sliver of moon. Only in one window does light flicker; only in a single room in Jacob House does a candle still burn.

The room does not belong to a porter, for even he would sleep at this hour of the night. No, it is an ordinary room, belonging to an ordinary student. Sometimes there are three people in the room at night, or sometimes four. This is not because its owner is inclined to throw forbidden late-night gatherings – rather, he is the kind who would catch and report any student who would dare to do so. It is because there are two, three people who like to invite themselves to his room, often sneaking in using means other than the door and turning up when he least expected it, regardless of the time of night. The man who had come by earlier would have fallen into this category.

Now, there is only one person in the room, though if there had been more, it is likely that he would not have noticed. An observer, however, would be forgiven for thinking that the room was unoccupied. The boy sits in the corner of the room, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as he tries to make himself as small as possible; a wavering, hunched shadow in the dancing candlelight.

He is not hiding. There is nothing in the world for him to hide from, since, to all extents and purposes, for him, the world has ceased to exist. Wide eyes stare at nothing. Dry tear tracks line his soft cheeks. He is a shadow, a ghost; not thinking, not _daring_ to, as thinking about it would mean that it was real. Thinking would be the same as accepting.

He had known that things were going to change, but not like this.

He has been there for many hours already, and it will be many more hours before he is found.

On his table there lies a letter.

* * *

_Dear William,_

_I suppose you are wondering why I left so suddenly. No – knowing you, you are wondering not why I disappeared without warning, but why it has taken me so long to explain myself. I am not very good at explaining myself, since I often feel like I do not know myself well enough to convey how I feel to another. Nonetheless, I will try to answer both of those questions, if you will have patience._

_You know that things have become difficult over the past couple of weeks; you also know, I have no doubt, that this is because Dantalion suspects my involvement in the underworld movement known as Dark Dawn. He is right to suspect everyone, and he is right not to trust anyone. Two weeks ago they were virtually unheard of: a group of demons whose aspirations were unclear, who had neither influence nor power. Almost overnight they have become a force to be reckoned with, and they show no signs of losing momentum. Hell has been shaken to its very core. What you have seen on the surface is a mere whisper of that; in the degeneration of the relations between Dantalion, Sitri and myself, you have seen how powerful they are, for they have managed to tear us apart without raising a finger against us themselves. I will explain my involvement in this, I swear to you that I will, but I must ask that you trust me._

_I know that I have not done much to earn your trust in the past. It is nothing less than my own_

_(foolishness)_

_caution that has prevented us from becoming close. Maybe I will be able to explain that too in this letter, if I get the chance. To ask now for you to believe me is a hope that I know I do not deserve to have, but I ask anyway, because I do not know what else to do._

_Before I do, maybe I should tell you this: I am withdrawing my candidacy for Interim Ruler. You will never have to see me again. I will never again interfere in your life – I will never again put you in danger by being at your side. From here on out, having me around shall be your choice, rather than something imposed upon you._

_If you will stay with me, and believe in me just until you have finished reading this letter, then I will explain everything._

* * *

"Why?"

To any observer, Camio would have appeared immersed in the music. His golden eyes were hazy as he stared into nothing, seeing only the patterns of the notes imprinted on his memory. His fingers danced over the piano's keys with that delicate butterfly's grace that only the true masters of the instrument possessed. Although he had had many more years to practise than a human would, it did not detract from the fact that he was a natural pianist. Recreating the music was instinct; where someone else might have had to concentrate, his mind was free to wander – and listen. He gave no reply, but it was not because he hadn't heard.

The man sitting casually in an armchair was not fooled; he knew Camio far too well for that. Wrapped in a fluffy white robe, matching the colour of his long, straight hair, he seemed perfectly at ease within the overly-elaborate palace. The hall they were in was far too big for just the two of them – even with Camio and his grand piano taking pride of place – yet that was exactly how he liked it. One leg was crossed over the other, and on it rested a sheet of paper, filled with lines of perfect calligraphy. Only when the pause became long enough for him to understand that Camio was deliberately ignoring him did he glance up.

"Why?" he repeated. "For him? Of course it is. Millennia pass and nothing changes, eh, Camio?"

The demon gave no response. No emotion showed on his face; the notes he played were as perfect as ever. Not too gentle, not too fast – any feelings he may have had in response were buried in the harmony of his sleek fingers. He played Chopin's _Raindrops_, not one of the classic pieces that his lord preferred, but one that he loved nonetheless. It was perhaps his favourite, and he played it with a mastery that the composer himself would have envied. He understood it completely. It was contemplative, solitary, and it resonated with his inner confliction.

"It is not your decision to make."

Camio did not miss a single note. "It is my decision."

A small smile crossed the other's face. "And if I ordered you not to?"

This time, Camio did not respond, but his eyes narrowed towards the ivory keys. The man saw, and chuckled. "You've changed, Camio. You've been up there too long, hmm?"

There was a moment's silence as both of them listened to the music. The man in white nodded his head approvingly, then he glanced down at the paper. He lifted it up and peered at the other side, unsurprised to find it blank. "You haven't finished," he remarked.

"No."

"You're going to write about Dark Dawn."

"Do you disapprove, my lord?"

"Hmm. About other things, perhaps, but not about that. I do believe, however, that you may find yourself in more trouble than even a Great President of Hell can handle."

There was a twitch in Camio's hand, and he almost – but not quite – missed his chord. His golden eyes were completely clear now, a far cry from the daze that had arisen with the first note that he had played. "How much trouble?" he asked carefully.

"If I knew, I would not keep my distance. Though, I imagine, I suspect much the same as you do. I do not trust a servant of God, although I would not be surprised to find that we can trust some of our own people even less."

"The other candidates can be trusted."

"I think that depends entirely on what it is that you want to trust them with."

Camio frowned. He raised his hands from the piano, stopping the song abruptly only a few bars from the end. The other looked up in surprise to see him placing his hands together on top of the keys. "I suppose it does," he said slowly, his face a mask.

"Do you really think this will make a difference, Camio?"

He gave a heavy sigh. Walking over to the chair, Camio dropped to his knees before the other. He did not lower his head in submission as he should have done, but kept eye contact all the while. "It does not matter whether or not it will make a difference. I only do what must be done."

"For Hell, or for yourself?"

A small, sad smile crept across the demon's face. "For neither." After an inscrutable moment, Camio stood up, holding his hand out for the paper. "Will you do this for me?"

"I will. Bring it back to me when you are done." Camio nodded once. "Is that all?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Camio turned to leave. Halfway to the door, the other called him back. "Oh, Camio?"

"Yes, my lord Beelzebub?"

"Be sure to come back to me. I would rather like to hear the end of that piece."

That sad smile again. "I do not intend to die, my lord."

"I am glad to hear it," came Beelzebub's response. But he thought about that unfinished letter, and he wondered.

If he were not a demon, he might have prayed.

* * *

_Allow me to start from the beginning._

_William, you already know that I have been at your school for a long time. It is because of you, but there are other reasons too. You know about Maria, but it is also no secret that I feel more at home here than I do in Hell. It is not just my blood, but my_

_(heart)_

_mind that calls me to be here. In Hell I cannot pretend to be a pure demon, for my mixed bloodline is well-known. I hold rank as a result of my lineage and my ability, and I am respected for my achievements as well as my power, which is something I worked hard for… but I still do not like it there. I will never truly fit in amongst demons, not while I feel that I am constantly trying and failing to be someone I am not, for the sake of acknowledgement._

_But here? I have been accepted by the students here. No one suspects that I am anything more – or less – than human. It is a life built on deception, but it is somehow different. I can pretend successfully – and it doesn't hurt anyone. And I am surrounded by others who are also pretending to be something they are not. Dantalion, Sitri – I was not familiar with them before we were drawn here because of you, but they are also trying to fit in here, and for the first time in my life, I have felt that I am not so_

_(alone)_

_different._

_I enjoy being Head Boy. You may not believe me, but it is something that I had to work hard at. I like having to solve problems, and maintain the image of the school, and keep the prefects in line, without the violence and betrayal that characterizes life in Hell. It's not that I mind that so much… but it's different. I am free here. If I am constantly being judged, it is solely because of how I am doing my job, and that is something I have chosen, rather than something forced upon me by birth, or by virtue of my candidacy for ruler. I'm not doing it for the sake of a disguise, but because I can do something that I find fun while watching over you._

_Ah, I told you I was no good at explaining myself. It's just something that I feel, that I can't put into words. What I am trying to say is that if I were given the choice between returning home or staying here, I would choose to stay, at least until I was needed at home, or those I owe allegiance to ordered my return. It's not just because of you, though I will stay at your side_

_(for as long as I can)_

_while you need protecting, but because a life here is much closer to what I would have chosen, if I had been given the power to choose. When I roamed the worlds lost and lonely, it was to here that I came, and here that I first fell in love; when I was angry, and I gave in to despair, it was to Hell that I turned all the hatred I felt for myself. I will never fit in anywhere, but if I could fit in…_

_No. I hope that you understand me, William. I cannot explain how I feel when most of the time I don't even understand it myself._

_However, my loyalties lie with Hell, and they always will. I will not hesitate to fight to protect my lord Lucifer, or those who have helped me, or those that I might call friends. I shall not neglect my duties towards my kingdom. I am sworn to protect my Hell during times of adversity, and now I am needed there more than ever. An internal war is raging, great enough even to eclipse the struggle over you, the Elector. Even if those who are still loyal win out, it is unlikely that Hell will ever be the same again. The balance has been held here for millennia. I do not believe that our lords have any idea how to deal with an uprising that reaches all the way to the top; if they once knew, they have surely forgotten. We are united against Heaven, but when the problem is not God's soldiers but the dominance of a human man adored and hated in equal measure, the sides are not so clearly defined. I do not know who I can trust, so I am going alone._

_The turmoil of Hell is the only thing that would cause me to leave_

_(you)_

_the human world behind. I may not be able to make a difference – with society's structure crumbling, power is the only thing that holds any meaning any more – but it is my duty to try. It is the only way that I can hope to be able to return things to the way they were – that I can continue to be the Head Boy; that I can continue to be at your side._

_I am truly sorry that I left without warning, but I did not wish for my enemies to learn of my return before I had a chance to change anything. You can never be too careful when Dark Dawn are your opponents, for they _are_ my opponents, as much as they are Hell's; Dantalion's; yours. I'll explain, I promise._

* * *

"William!"

At the sound of his name, William stirred in his bed. There was enough consciousness in his waking mind to recognize the voice calling to him, and he stubbornly refused to open his eyes.

"William!"

A rough hand shook him; his pretence of being asleep would no longer hold. With an audible groan, he rolled over, away from the intruder, and pulled the duvet up around him. "Go away."

"Where is he?"

"Where is who?"

"Camio, of course."

"Why are you still going on about this?" came William's grumpy response. "And why are you going on about it in my bedroom at this hour of the morning?"

Dantalion had no respect for the proper order of things. A locked door couldn't keep him out; the early hour, when only the school cooking and cleaning staff were awake, couldn't keep him away from William. He considered everything that happened to William to be his business too, and when he had something to say then he would say it, with or without permission, regardless of the time or place. It might have been sweet, but at times like this, it was nothing but annoying.

"Where is he?" Dantalion persisted, with his usual stubbornness.

"Probably in the Headmaster's House, where, you know, he _lives_." William pulled the pillow over his head, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping the demon would leave.

"He's not there. He's disappeared."

"Why couldn't it have been you who disappeared?"

Hurt flickered across Dantalion's eyes, but he was not a demon inclined to sentimentality, and he pushed on regardless. "Where is he?"

"I don't _know_, Dantalion! Maybe he's gone for a morning jog, or he's meeting influential governors for the Headmaster!"

"At this time of day?"

"Yeah, that's right, who on earth would be up bothering people at this hour?" Dantalion blinked down at him, missing the irony. William gritted his teeth. "Maybe he's gone on holiday! Why would he tell me? And for that matter, why is it any of your business?"

Dantalion was silent, and William knew why. It had been three days since he had been saved from death at Lune's hands by Dantalion's timely arrival; two since Dantalion had assaulted Camio outside the chapel. They saw the Head Boy infrequently, as their lessons and duties at the school rarely brought them into contact with him, but if they passed in the grounds, the tension between Dantalion and Camio was so intense that even those who hardly knew the two of them were commenting on it. The news of the fight between the captain of the rugby team and the Head Boy was already legend, and word of their rivalry had spread around the campus like wildfire. There had been no further confrontations, but the constant threat had pushed William's patience to its limits. He knew that it was only for his sake – and because of his orders, which Dantalion had to obey to some extent when William truly meant them – that an outright fight hadn't broken out yet. But it was only a matter of time, and all of them were stressed and concerned.

Dantalion had been sticking as closely to William as possible; whether it was because he genuinely thought Camio was a threat or because he wanted to show Camio the influence he had over the Elector, William didn't know, but it annoyed him no end. Sitri was the opposite – William had scarcely seen him over the past few days. Perhaps he didn't want to take sides. Perhaps there was something else going on. Why couldn't they just give it up and at least try to be friendly again? For weeks, the three candidates had existed in harmony despite their rivalry, and it had fallen apart overnight. To make it even worse, no one would explain anything to William. He was well and truly fed up with all of them, and if Camio had left, then good riddance. One down, two to go.

"Dantalion. I don't know where Camio is. I don't care where Camio is. Why do you even consider it your business? If he's not here, then I can't elect him, and that's what you really care about, isn't it? If he's not here, then he can't compete with you. That's all you want me for, after all. So go away, leave me alone, and at least let me hold on to whatever's left of this respectable life that I used to have before you and your friends turned up and ruined everything!"

Silence followed this outburst. William had been expecting an angry retort, but as the silence dragged on, he began to worry that he had gone too far. He didn't want to hurt Dantalion – he hadn't _meant_ to hurt him. All the demon had ever wanted was for him to be safe…

He removed his head from under the pillow and glared at Dantalion. Or, he glared at the chair where he thought Dantalion would have been sitting, only to find it empty. There was no one else in the room. Dantalion had gone.

Panic gripped William. He hadn't meant for things to go this far. Had Dantalion left because of what he had said? No – had he left because William had ordered him to? Whether or not he believed that he was Solomon's heir, the evidence suggested that Dantalion would follow his commands if pressed… He had spoken without thinking, and now he felt only alarm. What if Dantalion didn't come back? What if Camio really was a threat, and Dantalion was the only one who had known it? What if Lune came back to finish her job? What if… what if Sitri had left too, and he was all alone?

He told himself it was nonsense. He told himself that the demons did as they pleased. He told himself that this was what he had wanted all along.

But if it had been what he had wanted once, it certainly wasn't any more. The ominous feeling he had felt when the demons had first showed up to save him from Lune returned with enough force to send shivers down his spine.

Though he placed his head back under the pillow, William did not sleep again that night.

And when he finally got up and went down for breakfast, Dantalion's and Sitri's usual spots were empty.

* * *

_The group called Dark Dawn have been around since Solomon's time. Back then, they opposed those of us who were bound by Solomon. It was not our choice to serve him, we might argue, but that is only true to some extent… we were all his willing servants, at least in part, because we all loved him – again, at least in part. Those who Solomon did not make pacts with rebelled and tried to kill him, but they were easily crushed, and so they have been ever since. Over the years, their influence has dwindled to nothing, or so we thought. Now, too late, we find that they have people high up in the ranks of demon society, higher even than myself, and that they may have made deals with powerful figures in Heaven too._

_I doubt you are thinking this, William, but as anyone else in your position would be, I'll say it anyway: wouldn't you say that this left you in great danger? If the organization called Dark Dawn want to break the control that Solomon has over the demons – say, his and his descendant's right to choose the Interim Ruler of Hell – wouldn't they be targeting you?_

_That's what I thought at first. By piecing together rumours I had heard from Hell, and what I had guessed about the attempt on your life by the demon called Lune two weeks ago, I thought then that Dark Dawn were having yet another go at a so-called 'revolution', by trying to kill you, the Elector. They can't eradicate Solomon's eternal authority by doing that, but they can seize possession of his – your – soul and that would give them great power. Yet, over the last few days that I have spent in Hell, I believe I have discovered what is closer to the truth._

_The Dark Dawn Revolution is not targeting you – it is not targeting Solomon. After all, there were two people who formed that ancient covenant, and Solomon is only one of them. The contract can equally be terminated by targeting the one he made a deal with so very many years ago. If I am right, and I would not write this to you if I did not believe that I was, then Lune was merely a decoy. Her goal was not to kill you, but to draw the three of us, your protectors, away momentarily, while they made their first move._

_They have much support in Hell. As briefly as I can, I'll explain, for it is important that you understand what it is that threatens my world, even if you choose not to believe it. Beneath our lord Lucifer, who slumbers in order to regain his powers, stand the four demon lords: Astaroth, the Grand Duchess of the South, who has nominated Dantalion as her candidate for Interim Ruler; Baalberith, the Western Duke, who is Sitri's uncle and his patron; Beelzebub, the Northern Duke, who has nominated me; and the fourth, Samael, the Duke of the East, who has not put forward any candidate for the role. Why Samael did not nominate anyone was unclear. The patron of the winner would most certainly gain influence and power, but Duke Samael's thoughts on the matter have always been unclear. He is bound to Solomon as are all his pillars, yet for him not to partake in the competition for Interim Ruler… however, it would not be the first time in our long history that he – or someone else – has withdrawn from a political game. There could be all manner of reasons. Perhaps his attention was elsewhere. Perhaps there was simply no one worthy of his nomination. Perhaps, as our Chief Steward, he was more concerned with the movements of Heaven and the protection of Hell as a whole while the others fought for leadership. _

_Or perhaps he was simply conserving his time and resources so that he was ready to take the rest of us by surprise when the rebel group made their move._

_Through my investigations over the past week or so, I have been forced to conclude that my lord Samael has been collaborating with Dark Dawn. He is the reason why they have such power, and he is the reason why they have managed to operate so well without being discovered, and how they have infiltrated so high up into the demon hierarchy. It may seem like nothing to you, William, but his betrayal has changed anything. While Hell crumbles in confusion, torn apart from within, and no one truly knows what is going on, Dark Dawn prepare to make their move, one they have been planning for thousands of years._

_They cannot kill Solomon. Solomon defeated them once; you have already seen, whether you believe it or not, that you can negate the powers of his pillars. Anyone he has bound cannot hope to win against you, not when you are so closely protected by those who care about you_

_(because we would die for you, and that is the truth)_

_because we need you alive._

_But Solomon's descendant has the power to choose our king Lucifer's temporary replacement because of a pact made between the two of them. When you remove the Elector from the equation, all there is left, however improbable, is that this is a true revolution. Dark Dawn, and Samael, are going to kill Lucifer._

_If it is possible to kill the king while he sleeps, I do not know. No one has tried it before – no one has ever thought of raising a hand against our leader. Even now, with all the evidence in front of me, I can scarcely believe it. Lucifer is the most powerful, and most beloved, of all of us. Such a revolution is unheard of. When a friend posed it to me as a possibility, I did not take it seriously. I thought that perhaps it was a clue intended to point me towards Samael's betrayal, since, without his resources, influence and connections being tied up in the race for Interim Ruler - and in the current situation, where a substitute king has yet to be elected - he would benefit the most from the king's abdication or otherwise defeat, just as he would benefit the most if the Elector were to be killed. It makes sense that he might be involved in anything to erase the lasting influence Solomon holds over us. I did not think, not then, that it was meant literally, for, like most demons, it had not crossed my mind that our undeniable, unchallenged king might be a target. My foolishness has lost me much time, but I shall remedy that, I swear it._

_Through the avenues that are yet open to me, I think I have learned much of Dark Dawn's plot. They plan to throw Hell into turmoil. They have already succeeded; if they somehow manage to kill Lucifer, we will never recover from the chaos of civil war. I don't know how high up this goes, but judging from their success so far…_

_I'm sorry, William. I know that very little of this concerns you, but I am worried. I did not want to leave your side in such troubled times, but for the time being I must leave you to Sitri and to Dantalion. I trust them now, in a time when I can trust no one else. I know that they will stay with you above all else, for they are not _

_(afraid of falling)_

_needed here; not as involved in this as I am. To them, you are more important than the future of Hell, whatever you might think of them. I know that they won't leave your side, which is why I had to go myself. I just wanted you to know that if it were not so serious_

_(then I would never have left you)_

_then…_

_Well, as I said, my loyalty lies with Hell, and it always will._


	4. Interlude

_**A/N:** So things are starting to take a serious turn as we run into the Chapter Three Interlude. Chronologically, this follows straight on from Lamentation Part 1 and runs directly (more or less) into Part 2, but I took the decision to label it Interlude because of how the focus shifts away from Camio's narration and focusses on the events surrounding William in his absence. Unlike in later chapters which have been given three parts, this contains no first-person narration, so really didn't fit as part of Camio's chapter. This is the first sign that my nice structure is beginning to break down... but it allows me to better advance the plot (well, to develop some of the other character relationships a little before they take centre stage...) so it's not the end of the world (optimism! :D ). Anyway, without further ado, I hope you enjoy this short-ish chapter! ~CS_

* * *

**Dark Dawn Revolution**

_by CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

**INTERLUDE**

When life had been wonderful, he had barely stopped complaining about it. Now that living was loneliness, he took it quietly; buried it under a façade of stoic silence.

William had never thought that he would miss having the demons around. Surely, everything should just go back to how it used to be – succeeding in exams, pursuing his lofty ambitions, trying to get Isaac to pass his exams too, avoiding sports, keeping order, making connections, and just generally enjoying life at one of England's finest schools. And all this did happen – all but the latter. The place just seemed empty without them. It was lonely and quiet, which it had never been before. He tried to put them out of his mind, and get on with his peaceful, ordinary life, but he had come to understand even before they left that he was so used to them being there that he didn't know what he would do when they were gone.

A day passed, and then another. William repeated his mock mathematics exam – the one he had done poorly on because he had been distracted by the conflict between the demons – and returned to his usual place at the top of the class, but it provided him with little consolation. When had the demons begun to matter more to him than exams? He didn't know the answer, but whatever it was, it left him in a foul temper.

Three days after Dantalion's disappearance, William finally snapped. It was just an ordinary evening meal, with the rest of the students laughing and chatting around the table, as if they hadn't even noticed the two empty seats next to William and Isaac. William had opened his mouth to complain about the jellied eel pie when it suddenly hit him hard that that was Dantalion's line.

It was at that moment that Isaac decided to ask William where the demons had gone, and when they would be coming back. For the first time since his parents had died, William felt such a great choking feeling of loss and loneliness that he couldn't speak. His throat was tight, his chest heaving, and drawing in a breath was so hard that he panicked he would pass out from the effort of it.

Shaking, William stood up. A few heads turned towards him; a few strangers remarked that he wasn't looking well. He didn't hear them. Even if he had have heard them, he had neither the breath nor will to reply. Isaac's worried calls fell on deaf ears as he fled from the dining hall.

He had no idea where he was going. At first he thought to head to his bedroom, where the others couldn't follow him, but it just contained too many memories of the demons' unwelcome – at the time – intrusions. It was the last place where he had seen Dantalion, after all. The library was a possibility, but it would likely be busy, and the last thing he wanted right now was to run into other people.

Or… maybe other people were what he needed. No – one person in particular. One person who had been there the last time he had lost people dear to him. One person who had been there for him all his life.

So William, the realist who did not believe in God, did what he never thought he would do: he ran to seek solace in the chapel.

But, maybe because he was an atheist, God was not on his side.

The door of the chapel was ajar, so William pushed it fully open and stumbled into the darkness inside. It shouldn't have been dark. Now that he was alone, and that he had calmed down a bit, he realized belatedly that there had been no candle flames flickering in the stained glass windows as he approached. It was strange that Kevin would have forgotten to light the candles – and that he would leave the door open when he wasn't in. Come to think of it, when was the last time he had seen Kevin around? Perhaps he had been called away for some reason. Well, whatever had happened, it was clear that he wasn't where he should be. The dark depths of the chapel were more than a little uninviting. With a shiver that he was glad Kevin wasn't around to see, William left and closed the door behind him.

At least going to the church had solved one issue. His brain had a new problem to contend with – Kevin's whereabouts – and, for the moment at least, it had pushed the romanticist's sentimentality and the sorrow it had brought out of his mind. He would go to Kevin's rooms. If he wasn't there, he might have left some sort of note or sign to say where he had gone. At the very least, if some of his belongings were missing, it would suggest that he had been called away suddenly. It could be Church business. Still, William thought that it was rude of his house steward to leave so suddenly without telling him…

It was fortunate for him that Kevin and the demons were too separate in his mind for him to make the connection.

He was grumbling to himself as he crossed the dark and deserted school grounds. The sun was already setting; the rest of the students were in the dining hall. No one tried to stop him – not that they should have done. He was a prefect, after all.

Yet prefects were not all-powerful. As William stood outside Kevin's door, having knocked and waited and knocked again and waited longer, wondering whether he should be concerned yet or just try again later, he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. Half-expecting to see one of the demons, he turned to greet them – only to find himself looking at the approaching figure of Stradford School's Headmaster.

Eyes opening wide, William stepped back from the door. "Headmaster!"

"William Twining."

William gestured at the door. "I was just…"

"You were just the person I was hoping to find," the Headmaster continued. Normally a jovial man, he adopted a serious manner when dealing with important school business – or with punishments. It was this tone that he used now, and William was astute enough to recognize it immediately. He hadn't thought that his rapid departure from the dining hall would have caused any problems; it wasn't against the school rules to leave a meal half-finished, after all, and though he shouldn't have run through the corridors, surely it wasn't important enough a matter for the Headmaster himself to get involved with-?

"Sir, if this is about what happened in the dining hall-"

The old man frowned. "What happened in the dining hall?"

"It's not important. What did you want to see me for, sir?"

The Headmaster gestured at the door William was stood by. "It concerns our Pastor, Kevin Cecil. The rumours say that he used to be your house steward before coming here. Is that true, Twining?"

"Yes, sir. His family have served mine for generations. We put all that behind us when we both ended up here though-"

"That is irrelevant." The Headmaster waved his hand dismissively, and William closed his mouth immediately. "When was the last time you saw Pastor Cecil?"

William considered the question. He was so used to running into Kevin round and about on the school grounds that he did not pay attention to exactly when and where they met. The most recent one that stuck in his mind was… was when Camio and Dantalion had almost come to blows outside the chapel after Sunday morning service. Had he seen him since then? Now that he came to think about it, he wasn't sure that he had. Though he wouldn't piece together why until later, a chill settled over him.

"It was just after the morning service last Sunday."

"That was what I thought."

"May I ask why?"

"Pastor Cecil has disappeared."

"What do you mean, disappeared?"

"No one has seen him since after that service."

"You mean…?" William was still shaking his head in disbelief.

"A few days ago, we sent a messenger to the nearest Anglican conclave, to see if our campus pastor had been called away to a meeting. He returned just an hour ago. No such order had been given, and no one there has heard from him since he took the position here."

William was silent. He couldn't understand it. It was as if his brilliant brain had simply stopped turning. He couldn't comprehend what was going on.

"Have you any idea where he would be, Twining?"

William replied in a quiet voice that wasn't quite his own. "No, sir."

"Shortly after he delivered the morning sermon, Pastor Cecil was seen breaking up a fight between the Head Boy and another student," the Headmaster commented, watching William closely.

"I can't imagine that has anything to do with it, sir," William replied, but the detached part of his mind was numbly turning through the facts. Was it possible that one of the demons had been angry enough at that to hurt Kevin? He couldn't imagine it… but then he couldn't imagine Dantalion leaving without an explanation, or Camio turning traitor.

And then he remembered – Kevin had said something to Camio, something about Lucifer. It had seemed innocent enough at the time, but now that he thought about it, it seemed like more of a threat. But Kevin didn't know Camio was a demon… unless being a priest had given him some supernatural ability to sense demonic presences, as the previous campus pastor had been able to do. He wouldn't have picked a fight with a demon though… would he? He knew about Dantalion, and he had seemed content to keep his distance when the demon had decided to stay at William's side. But maybe Camio had started the fight. He hadn't thought it possible, but… what was he supposed to believe? They had left him, after all. They had all left him. And for protecting him, Kevin might be-

"Twining? Twining?"

"Sorry, sir. I was just – concerned about Ke- Pastor Cecil. I've known him for a long time, and this isn't like him at all."

The Headmaster nodded. He raised his hand, in which he was holding a small silver key. William watched, trying not to think, as the Headmaster knocked on Kevin's door, and, upon receiving the same silence as William had, opened the door with the key. It swung open without a sound. Peering over the Headmaster's shoulder, trying not to be too obvious, William scanned the room. It looked exactly how it had the last time he had been in. Nothing was out of place. Not a single picture was slanted; not a lone chair had been turned from its usual position.

But the perfection was wrong, because Kevin wasn't there. How could it be right if Kevin wasn't there?

A brief search revealed no note, or letter, or explanation of Kevin's absence. His clothes were all there. A kettle was full of water, waiting for the fire to be lit beneath it. A Bible was open on the desk, marked by a page of his concise notes. It was as if he had just stepped out for a moment, but the feeling of emptiness could not be shaken away. Kevin had been absent for a long time.

First, Camio.

Then Sitri and Dantalion.

And now Kevin.

Slowly, but surely, everyone was leaving him.

William did not remember walking back to his room or falling asleep. He awoke with confusion the next morning, surprised to find that everything had carried on.

And, as if a chapter had closed in his life, he found with even greater surprise that he could carry on too.

* * *

After a week, William came to realize that this detached, hazy place he was living in was the real world, and that it wasn't going to become any more life-like with time. After a week, he had begun to accept that this was reality. After a week, he would have been willing to believe that everything unusual that had happened to him was just a dream – or, just a series of hallucinations caused by electromagnetic waves and the like – if it hadn't been for Isaac's occasional questions about them, or the fact that other students began to increasingly wonder where the three strange students had disappeared off to. Isaac had quickly learned that the demons were not a good subject to bring up around William, but he had done some investigating – surprisingly mundane investigating, thankfully – and found that none of them had requested leave from the school beforehand. It was unusual, since the demons had always been careful not to draw attention to themselves before.

At one point, Isaac had offered to try and summon one of the demons from Hell. Laughing, William reminded him what had happened last time he tried to summon something, until he remembered that it had been Sitri who had saved them from the monster Isaac had conjured, and he grew sad again. He declared with a touch of his old, stubborn insistence that such occult nonsense wasn't possible, and left to go and spend the rest of the evening studying in the library to take his mind off things.

He found that he could get by without thinking of the demons. After all, they had likely been summoned back to Hell for some reason, and they could all look after themselves. Kevin was more difficult. He had been in William's life for a lot longer than the demons, and, though they weren't blood relatives, he felt like the only family that William had left. Yet there were equally good reasons why he might have disappeared too. Perhaps he had gone back to the Twining family estate, or to visit a family member, or perhaps his Uncle Barton had turned up and called for Kevin. The Headmaster had submitted a request to the police, and it was only a matter of time before he heard that the school was looking for him and returned.

Things would work out. In the meantime, days passed, and days passed, and days passed, until two weeks had gone by since that fateful day that Dark Dawn Revolution made their first move.

It came to be that one afternoon, William was skulking through the woods in an attempt to take the longest possible route to rowing practise, vainly hoping that the boat would have set off by the time he got there so he wouldn't be able to take part. Few people came by here even during the day, so hopefully no one would see him dawdling.

"William Twining."

William froze. It was just his luck. He glanced around to see if it was a fellow prefect that had caught him, but saw no one between the thinly-spread trees. Frowning, he placed his hands on his hips and glared at nothing in particular.

"That is your name now, isn't it, Solomon?"

Two things occurred to William then. The first was that the voice wasn't coming from the ground at all, but from somewhere up above him. The second was that it was a girl's voice. That was rare enough in this boys' school as it was, without the voice seeming too young to belong to one of the dorm mothers or other female staff members.

With a growing feeling of gloom, William glanced up to see the demon called Lune sat on a thick branch, swinging her legs back and forth. "These are school premises," he growled. "You should leave."

"Oh, it's not like I want to be here, trust me," she said airily. She threw her head back to gaze wistfully at the sky, allowing her bright green hair to tumble down her back. "I'm not remotely interested in you. You might have been Solomon once, but you don't have his power now, I think."

"What's it to you?" William retorted, more annoyed than he should have been by the demon girl's obvious disdain.

"Absolutely nothing. I don't care about Solomon. It's all the same to me whether you live or die." Sighing, Lune glanced down at her hand, where a silver ring on her middle finger glinted in the sunlight. "However, it matters to my boss, I think. He seems to believe that you might pose a threat to our plans – small, but not one we should overlook. After all, if we have your soul in custody, then there's absolutely no chance you can awaken, right? So he sent me up here to do his dirty work." Lune sighed again, fixing William with a dark look, as if she blamed him for the fact that she had to leave Hell in order to come after him, just as things were getting interesting back at home. "Ah, well. It won't take long, I think. It's such a shame that your guardians all seem to have disappeared, don't you agree, William?"

"Where did they go? What's going on?" It had been a long time since William had felt this kind of fear. Some unconscious part of his mind had always had faith that Dantalion would come for him when he was in danger, but he knew that this time he would not. Lune's confidence, and the circumstances of the past two weeks, had shaken the faith he had once held in them.

"Ah, questions, questions. What a bother this is." Madness glinted in those red eyes. They seemed to outshine the pale sun with a light of their own. "I have important business to see to in Hell, so do me a favour, and die quickly and quietly."

"Lune-!" William shouted, but she wasn't interested in what he had to say. Leaning forwards, she threw herself from the branch and hurtled towards him. Liquid darkness writhed in her hands; bored insanity ate away at those eyes, so close, so dark, so bloodthirsty, just as he would have expected from a demon before he met Dantalion-

A bolt of blue lightning lanced down from the sky, striking Lune and throwing her to the ground. Startled, William glanced up to see Sitri standing amongst the tree branches. Blue light blazed at his fingertips as he watched Lune clamber to her feet with the intensity of a predator. He was as beautiful as ever, with his long hair done up perfectly even in battle, yet there was something different about him. The usual carefree sparkle in his eyes, that warm glitter which made him so appealing to others, was gone. In its place was a seriousness that reduced his sapphire irises to a sharp and dangerous grey.

"Sitri?" William murmured. "Where the hell have you been?"

The demon ignored the question. "How many times do you have to be told? Until you elect someone, you're going to be in danger. It's not too late, even now!"

With murderous rage twisting her face, Lune sprung into the air, hurling a ball of dark energy at Sitri. He dodged easily, jumping acrobatically across to another tree.

"And how many times do I have to tell you?" William demanded. "I'm not electing anyone!"

"You really are a bothersome Elector!" Lune attacked again; this time, Sitri met it head on with a bolt of blue light that caused both attacks to explode outwards. Both jumped out of the way; William ducked behind a tree with an angry yelp. "I don't know why I'm even helping you."

William folded his arms. "How about this? If you protect me, I'll go and buy you some candy."

Sitri stared at William. When he seemed to be serious, Sitri burst out laughing. "It's a deal, then."

"What are you doing here?" Lune hissed, scowling. "Why aren't you in Hell?"

"Someone has to see to it that pathetic demon trash like you keeps away from my Elector."

"I don't belong to-" William tried to interject, but neither of them were listening to him.

"If you want to interfere, then so be it. You shall simply have to die as well." They charged each other, unearthly power flashing at their fingertips.

"Do you really believe that someone like you can defeat someone as beautiful as me?" Sitri mocked, over the explosive clashes of their attacks.

"Of course. You're nothing without your friend to back you up, I think. Besides, I wasn't serious about killing you last time; I was just the decoy, after all. Unfortunately, now you're standing between me and my target, and I can't let you get away with that."

Sitri narrowed his eyes, but did not give a response. Light flashed between them, slicing through the air and tearing up the ancient trees as if they were made of paper. William watched tentatively. This was the part where he would have expected Dantalion to step in, but he was still nowhere to be seen. What was going on? Why had Sitri returned alone? And Sitri was… delicate. It wasn't as if he couldn't look after himself, but seeing him pushed to his limit against a psychotic demon girl who wouldn't listen to common sense was just wrong. It wasn't how William thought about Sitri, and it bothered him.

Even as he watched, Lune flung a ball of crackling darkness at Sitri, and as he pirouetted to dodge, Lune's gaze shifted from Sitri to William, and an arrogant smile dawned on her pale face. Sitri saw too late the coal-black spear she was holding in her spare hand; realized too slowly that Lune had never intended to fight him, only distract him. She ran towards William, the promise of a swift and merciless death in her eyes, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to run even if he tried.

And then Sitri was back, throwing himself between Lune and her target. For a moment there was silence. Then came Lune's hiss of annoyance. Slow and irregular at first, and then with increasing speed, came the sound of raindrops – except it wasn't raining on that vivid spring afternoon, and the growing crimson puddle at Sitri's feet could only be one thing.

With a look of distaste on her face, Lune stepped backwards. The black weapon turned to smoke in her hand, leaving only the red stain on her fingertips. "Always getting in the way," she pouted.

Sitri glared at her, one hand holding his side, but words wouldn't come to him.

Lune grimaced. "Not even fatal. I underestimated you, Sitri, O noble prince of Hell. I didn't think you'd actually go so far for such a worthless human."

"Lune!" William yelled, beside himself with terror for Sitri and for himself. "What do you think you're doing? So what if you want to kill me? He's one of yours! Why would you do this?"

Spreading her arms wide, Lune gave an eerie laugh that sent shivers down his spine. "Because this is a revolution, Elector! It's what we _do_! And now-"

Her words cut off abruptly. She whirled around, her gaze fixed on some point far above the horizon. In the same instant, Sitri let out a cry and fell forwards. William sprang into action instinctively, throwing his arms around Sitri's chest and pulling him back upright before he could hit the floor. He felt Sitri's slim body writhing in pain when he accidentally put pressure on the bloody wound, but he would not give voice to his agony. William placed him on the floor as gently as he could. Between Sitri's wide eyes and Lune's sudden distraction, he was almost certain that there was something going on that he was unable to perceive.

Lune turned back to him. William tensed, although she didn't attack again. "I'm needed elsewhere, I think. Looks like you're getting off the hook today, Elector, but don't worry – I'll be back to finish the job once I've sorted out this troublemaker."

And with that warning, she vanished.

William didn't even check to see if she was bluffing. Before she had even finished speaking, his attention had turned to Sitri. The spear seemed to have carved a long gash in his side rather than piercing his body, so the wound was not fatal, though through the gap in his skin, William could see half-severed muscles shuddering alongside white slivers of bone. "Sitri-" he began.

The demon just pushed his hand away. "Don't touch me," he hissed.

"You need help!" William insisted.

"I need to – get to Hell – there's trouble-"

"It can wait! Look at you! What are you going to achieve if you go back in this state?"

"This is nothing!" Sitri spat. "I'm stronger than this-"

Impulsively, William begged, "Don't leave me."

"William…" the demon protested, but something in his tone had changed.

"Don't go again so soon." He folded his arms and looked away haughtily. "I mean, if you go off chasing her and throwing yourself into trouble in this state, you're just going to get hurt, and then it would be my fault, since it's because of me that you were injured in the first place! I won't be held responsible for that, so you're going to have to stick around until you can look after yourself again, understood?"

Sitri managed a shaky smile. Though he was evidently in pain, his rarely-seen true smile still lit up his flawless face. A measure of sparkling blueness had returned to his eyes. Still he tried to protest: "But Hell… there's trouble…"

"There'll be trouble if you run off and leave me again without an explanation," William told him sternly. "Oh, and as soon as you're better, you're going to explain to me why it was that you left in the first place. And then you can tell me what on earth is going on with that crazy girl, and why everything seems to be going wrong."

"Fine. But you owe me candy."

It was William's turn to smile. "I do. So, I'll take you to the school's hospital wing, and you can stay there and away from Hell until you've recovered."

There was still doubt in Sitri's eyes, but after one look at William's earnest face, he closed his eyes and bit back his protests. And, perhaps he was wrong and selfish and stupid to do so, but when William picked him up gently and carried him to the hospital wing in his arms, he didn't breathe so much as a word of complaint.


	5. Camio - LAMENTATION PART 2

_**A/N:** To a community of writers, I don't think it will come across as strange when I admit that I did not want this to happen. It's something my non-writer friends struggle to understand, but the characters I write don't listen to me and sometimes do their own thing. Any control I think I have over the plot is an illusion. A story will go where I want it to go only until I come into conflict with a character's deepest wishes. I never intended for the story to go in this direction; more than that, I did everything I could to prevent it. It's not the first time that one of my characters has tried to do this... but it is the first time that I have been unable to save them. Does that make me a poor writer? I'm not sure. But I am sorry. I'm so sorry :(_

_On a brighter note, let's talk about Lune. I don't have a problem giving a minor character (and an OC at that-!) this role, because I love writing her so much. (She's just mental. It's great :D ) But I understand that other people won't feel the same. What I will ask is for you to please reserve your judgement for the time being. As an intentional result of this structure, we don't have the whole picture yet. If you hate me enough after this to stop reading, then believe what you wish, but otherwise please be patient! :P Meanwhile, I hope that you enjoy (is that the right word?) the chapter! ~CS_

* * *

**Dark Dawn Revolution**

_by CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

**LAMENTATION PART 2**,

or The Final Cry Of A Very Kind And Very Lonely Demon

_William, I promised I would tell you why I left. I have to act, because _someone_ has to; someone who knows what's going on and refuses to trust blindly any more. I can no longer stand by and let this continue. Even if I can't make a difference, even if Hell has already broken beyond repair, I'm going to do everything I can to stop this from going any further._

_As to my withdrawal from the candidacy? It may seem like an empty gesture, since Solomon and the Elector shall become irrelevant if Dark Dawn succeed in overthrowing Lucifer. But believe me when I say that giving up_

_(you)_

_on becoming the Interim Ruler is possibly the hardest thing that I have ever done. In truth, I have officially rescinded my contention for candidacy in order to make the others act. While our leaders bicker endlessly over who is loyal and who is a traitor, Hell crumbles around them, and Dark Dawn gain more and more power. I never thought I would say this – though I guess we are rivals no more – but we need Dantalion and Sitri. If they are so wrapped up in accusing me and_

_(forgive me, William)_

_looking after you, then they will not act. Hell needs them to be impulsive and strong, without torn loyalties. I doubt they will leave your side while they continue not to trust me, so I want to show them that I am as proud and as faithful to our King and to Solomon as I have always been. I will prove it. I will make them act… I will show them that Dark Dawn must be stopped at all costs, for Hell and for you. _

_I know that you may not trust me. I know that you think that I_

_(do not love you)_

_have my own agenda, but it is not true. Perhaps, if I were stronger, like the others are, I might have been able to grow closer to you… I might have been capable of choosing you over this._

_You know the story of Maria and I – how I promised to run away with her, and how I broke that promise. I told myself it was for her sake, since she would have grown old while I did not, and I couldn't have stayed with her while I was divided between the human world and my beloved Hell. In reality? I did it as much for myself as for her. I didn't want to choose between my human half and my demon blood. I didn't want to know what my decision would be. I didn't want to fight._

_After so many years, I have finally found something that matters to me. I have found something that's worth fighting for – that's worth choosing._

_I am fighting for these days of peace at Stradford School. _

_I am fighting to be Head Boy again._

_I am fighting for the right to return to your side._

_Once the revolution is over, and stability has returned to Hell, I will be able to return to you. If I am no longer a candidate for Interim Ruler, I can coexist with the others, and protect you of my own accord. I have to return to Hell first. I have to leave you behind. Once the Dark Dawn Revolution has been stopped, I will be free to choose you, and I promise to return to your side. I want to be free to live this life, and that is the cause I am fighting for._

_(If I were stronger, I would have abandoned Hell completely and chosen you.)_

_(I wanted to choose you.)_

_(But I will always be a sad and lonely demon.)_

_I believe that Dark Dawn are going to strike at my lord Lucifer soon. If I can convince any others that this is true, I shall lead an army to stop them. If I cannot, then I shall go on my own. That is how it must be. I will fight with everything I have, until I have earned the right to stand with you again. Even if no one else will stand up and stop this, I will. If I can do this, maybe I will finally find my redemption._

_I can fight if it's for you, William. I can be courageous, and I can sacrifice everything, if it is for you. After all, William,_

_(I love you)_

_I love this life. I am glad that Solomon was reborn as you. Thank you for letting me stand by your side, even if it wasn't for very long._

* * *

In Hell, the Doors were everywhere and nowhere.

In many ways, the Doors represented Hell itself; they could open onto any part of Hell, and lead from one plane or dominion to another. It could also be said that the Doors were a part of the lord of Hell, the great demon Lucifer. When he slept they closed; when he awakened, they would open over Hell once more. They were not in any fixed location in the way that places were fixed in the human world. They protected their master, and roamed as he dreamed them to roam, and that made them almost impossible to track down.

Yet there was one place in Hell were the Doors were generally considered to _be_. It was the place where the worlds in which they moved came the closest to the world in which the demons dwelled. It was the place most holy to demons, at the very heart of Hell. It was the place guarded most heavily, and protected with all the resources that the demon lords could spare, to save their king from Heaven's wrath while he slept to preserve his everlasting life.

Except this time, it was not Heaven that endangered Lucifer, but his own servants. Powerful enchantments had been cast onto this place where the fabrics of reality came together; impervious to the magic of angels, they were being devoured from within by the will of the demons that had given them life. Dark Dawn had been scheming even when the first wards were drawn in this most vulnerable place. Rebels, most likely Lord Samael himself, had placed corrupt spells within the wards thousands of years ago. Time had passed and they had gone unnoticed, concealed beneath layers and layers of enchantments, waiting for the moment to come to life and tear the barrier apart – just as Dark Dawn had done to Hell itself. They had been patient, and they had been clever. Or, maybe those who ruled Hell, and had once loved Solomon, had been complacent and lazy.

Now, in the place where the sacred Doors were most vulnerable, Camio stood alone.

Around him, black and white candles of various sizes and shapes burned with flames that time could not extinguish. Occult runes, sacrilegious to angels but holy to demons, decorated the floor of this wide open empty space with pentacles and heretical symbols. Some were chalk, some coal, some ash, and some had been drawn in the blood of sacrifices or of fanatical servants. Once, the multitude of colours and ancient words and bright offerings had made this a place of beauty. Now, most of the writing was tainted black and crumbling; gifts presented here rotted overnight. This place that had once throbbed with power was dying.

Soon, the Doors would be vulnerable. What then? Could they be made to open? Would Lucifer sense the danger, and awaken early to put an end to this? Could he do that without endangering his own powers? Would he fight, and if he did, could he win? If he stayed asleep, would he remain invulnerable, or had Dark Dawn found a means of awakening him and forcing him to fight?

Camio did not know the answer to any of these questions, but he did know that this was the place he was supposed to be.

He had traversed much of Hell to reach this place. Civilization was crumbling; law and order were all but non-existent. Leaders had no power except that which they could invoke with hand or blade. Authority had broken down when the lords had begun to war amongst themselves – when it had become clear that no one knew who to trust. The election of an Interim Ruler might have saved them, if it had occurred early enough – now, it was far too late. Gangs had formed, leading witch-hunts in the streets. Anyone thought to be a member of Dark Dawn was tortured or executed, even though the real leaders of the revolution were those at the top, laughing as they condemned the innocent and secured their own support. All semblance of society had fallen, and the true nature of the demons had been revealed. At heart, they were bloodthirsty murderers who lived for sin, with no thought for the lives of others and barely a memory of loyalty or compassion between them.

It hadn't always been like that. Lucifer, whom Solomon had befriended, had known better; Solomon's seventy-two pillars, all noble demons in mind if not in blood, he known better. Even before Solomon, they had understood the importance of imposing hierarchy and law upon Hell. Order and structure were needed if they were to repel Heaven. Laws had been put in place and enacted through force, for naturally the demons who held the highest rank were the most powerful, and from a society of violence and betrayal, a civilization built on power, respect and ancient law had been born and had flourished. Together, they had been strong enough to oppose Heaven; advanced enough to set their own path independent of God's will.

In a matter of days, millennia of work had been undone. Violence reigned once more over Hell, and there was no leader to stand up and organize opposition.

Camio had killed to reach the Doors. It hadn't bothered him – he was, after all, a demon too – but it was so very unnecessary, and the brutality that had descended upon his Hell saddened him greatly. There had been shelter in Lord Beelzebub's palace as he carried out his investigations, for Beelzebub was his patron and protector, and they trusted each other to the point where they may even have been wary friends. But there was a limit to Beelzebub's support. He would not jeopardize his interests; like the other demon lords, he would not risk anything for an ideal while there was still a chance that he might come out on top. He was selfish, but Camio had known this, and expected it. Was he himself not acting in his own interests? Maybe a Hell free from Solomon would be successful enough to defeat Heaven once and for all – but such a Hell without its current order would mean a life without William, without being Head Boy in an ordinary English school, and he could never accept that.

Knowing this, Camio had quickly given up the hope of finding help, though he would not give up on his own mission. He had to overcome this and protect whatever shreds of civilization were left. Only when old Hell had been restored, however that might be achieved, would he be free to return to William without guilt or torn loyalties. And that meant protecting his lord and defeating the enemies of Hell as quickly as possible.

At the centre of this circle of decaying faith, Camio knelt as if in prayer. Outwardly, he seemed calm; internally he was trembling. All his senses were straining to detect the inevitable approach of another demon. So many had already fallen. He was not modest about his own strength, but he did fear that it would not be enough. Yet he had given himself an ultimatum; he had staked everything on this stand here and now. That brought him some measure of calm. They would come, he knew they would, and once he had proven himself here, he would be worthy of returning.

Camio did not know how much time passed like this, but eventually he became aware of approaching footsteps. He did not move or look around, instead waiting calmly for them to come to him.

"So it was your presence disturbing our spells," a bored voice remarked. "If it isn't Camio, Great President of Hell, chosen of Beelzebub, half-human and half-demon royalty. A fortunate turn of events for me, I think."

Slowly, Camio stood up and turned to face his opponent. He had never met Lune before, but he had heard a lot about her over the past few days. Everything he had learned suggested that she was a force to be reckoned with. Unlike others who had tried to stop her and died, he was not deceived by the fact that she neither held rank in Hell nor was one of Solomon's pillars. He knew the danger of the life-stealing enchantments on the short black spear she held, and he recognized the silver ring on her finger immediately. She had done exceedingly well not to be discovered up until now. He was certain she would have been a dangerous opponent anyway, but with those weapons in hand, it was no wonder that the mere rumour of her abilities could have caused so much terror in the places he had passed through.

Lune tossed back her bright green hair. "You see, I was really hoping I would get to test myself against you. Then I heard that you'd died when Beelzebub's palace fell, and I thought I'd missed my chance. I should have known it wouldn't have been enough to kill someone of your calibre. In fact, I bet you weren't even there. I shouldn't have been fooled by your boss, though he put on a good show before he fled." She shrugged. "I'll track him down once I'm through with you, I think. I'm not passing up the chance to fight you again."

Camio said nothing. A blade of green light appeared at his right hand.

If Lune noticed it, she gave no sign. Completely at ease, she stretched, raising her hands above her head. She was short; even as she rocked on her tiptoes, she was only as tall as Camio's shoulder. "Do you think I'm reckless?" she asked casually. "My boss says I'm reckless. That's why he would only use me as a distraction, or send me after a human who couldn't fight back."

Camio's eyes narrowed, but he would not let himself think about William.

Lune continued, unperturbed. "He'd probably be mad if he knew I was here, but then I can't let you stay here and mess with our plans. Besides, I've waited long enough, I think. Oh, I could have gone through the ranks, I suppose, but it's so boring doing things by the rules. I have waited in hiding for so long, biding my time, and now? The past two weeks have been truly wonderful. I've finally been able to unleash my power. Still, ordinary demons are so disappointing. They're far too busy killing each other to fight me properly. But you, Camio, Great President of Hell, you won't be disappointing, will you? No – I'm going to truly enjoy this."

"So that's why you're part of Dark Dawn." Camio spoke quietly, sincerely. "You're a petty, pathetic demon. You don't care about Lucifer; you were too unimportant for Solomon to make a pact with. All you want is to bring chaos. All you want is to kill. You are, in the truest sense, a most despicable demon."

She appeared to take that as a compliment. "Naturally. Isn't this destruction wonderful? It's what we were meant for, I think."

"You won't win," he told her steadily. It was the right thing to say, regardless of whether or not he believed it.

"Oh, I've already won. Stop me here? It won't matter. If I can't wake him and kill him, the others who actually care about overthrowing the king will finish the job. You're the one I'm after. I'm so glad it was you here to intercept me." Lune gave a crazy smile that set her blood-red eyes alight. "I would ask you to stand aside and let me summon the Doors, but I'd much rather you tried to stop me."

"I shall defeat you here and now."

"That's a relief," Lune grinned. "Very well. It's time to see if you live up to your reputation, Great President. Long live the Revolution!"

And with that, they charged each other. Lune's black spear of darkness seemed to draw the curses in the protective wards into it, growing in length. Violet lightning crackled along its shaft and spread through the rest of her body, cloaking her in deadly energy. This desecrated place would favour the rebels, and yet it was also the closest to Lord Lucifer, and Camio could feel the dormant strength of the demon lord flowing through him. While he fought in defence of his king, even in this place, there would be no clear winner.

And while he fought for William, he would never give in.

* * *

There was a knock on William's door.

He sat bolt upright in bed. He had not quite been asleep, but it was past curfew and the unexpectedness of it had startled him. Grumbling to himself, he pushed the covers away and stood up. It was probably Isaac, too worried about tomorrow's test to sleep, come to beg for last-minute advice. Or maybe it was Sitri, come to tell him that he was out of the hospital. He had only gone in there that afternoon, but demons seemed to heal faster than ordinary people, given past experience. But then could it be Camio returning, or even Dantalion-

"William Twining?"

William froze with his hand inches from the door. He didn't recognize that voice. It wasn't one of the demons, that was for certain. Besides, they never bothered knocking. It wasn't a teacher that he knew, either… but who else would come to his door at this time of night?

Frowning, William opened the door to reveal an unusual visitor. He looked human, though William felt immediately that there was something off about him. Unlike the other demons who had come to his school, this one wasn't trying to conceal his true nature. Though he was only slightly taller than William, he certainly seemed imposing. The luxuriously fluffy white cloak drawn around him gave a misleading impression of bulk, as there was no doubt that this man was dangerous. A rune-etched band kept his straight blonde hair firmly in place; from it, two grand horizontal horns protruded. The tip of one of them had been broken off. Had William have been looking for it, he would have noticed other signs of disturbance in that royal appearance – robe torn at the bottom, pale hair decorated with spots of ash, mud and crusted blood on his black boots – but he did not, because he was caught by the depth of the stranger's eyes. He looked intently at William, and William stared back, wondering if he could call for Sitri; wondering if it would do any good.

Then the man bowed. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last."

Proper decorum had been drilled into William year after year, but he was so convinced that this man was a demon that he simply didn't know how to react. Inwardly, he was torn between wanting to run, or demand that the man leave his world, or ask him all the questions he wanted – needed – to know the answers to.

The stranger didn't seem to mind. He held out his hand to William. In it was an envelope.

"This is for you," he said.

Numbly, William took it. His name was written on the outside in a handwriting that was vaguely familiar. "Thank you," he replied, because he didn't know what else to say.

The man inclined his head, and turned to leave. "Wait-!" William called impulsively.

He turned back. He saw William's expression, recognized it, and gave a small half-smile of sympathy. This was a man who was used to decadence and success, not sorrow, and that he wasn't sure how to deal with sadness. William didn't know how he knew that, but he did.

The stranger said, "Live for him, William," and then he was gone.

William closed the door, locked it, and looked at the letter in his hand.

* * *

_I am sorry for going on so long, William, and for going round in circles. In truth, I do not know what it is that I even want to tell you. I think I am dragging this out because I don't want to say goodbye._

_So, I won't let this be goodbye, William. I have to write this down because I don't know how to say it, but I promise that once I have dealt with the threat to my lord Lucifer, I shall return to you and I will tell you all this myself. I won't lie to you. I will stand before you as myself and explain everything. I only write this now so that others will know what needs to be done to save Hell if I am unable to explain it. As you well know, I have always been cautious, even to a fault._

_If something happens to me, my lord Beelzebub has agreed to bring this letter to you, so that you might understand why it was that I had to leave you behind. But I won't let that happen, William. I swear that as soon as I return I will tear this letter up and say it to you myself. You deserve a proper explanation, and I will find the courage to tell you how I feel about this life – about you – myself. _

_I guess all this is pointless, really, since I promise that I will return. After all, I know now that_

_(you are the most important thing to me)_

_you are the most important thing to me._

_So I'll see you again soon. I promise._

_Yours, forever in friendship, _

_Camio._

* * *

"William! WILLIAM!"

That voice was one he would have recognized, had he have cared enough to listen. It was one he had once been hoping to hear, back when there had still been such a thing as hope.

The rough shout was accompanied by a furious knocking, but William noticed this no more than he had noticed the dawn creeping up on his window, or the first bell calling students to morning lessons. Some part of his mind registered the absence when the thunderous knocking stopped, and it was glad, because the best thing that the world could possibly do right now was stay there on the other side of that door.

Yet no door had ever been enough to stop Dantalion before, and presently it exploded inwards in a burst of angry flame. He stood there in the smouldering, splintered wreckage of the doorframe and looked at William as he huddled in the corner, hiding from the light, unaware of the destruction. William looked at him, looked _through _him, with empty eyes that saw nothing because they did not dare to see anything, and Dantalion felt a pain in his chest that he had only experienced once before.

He remembered appearing in William's basement for the first time. He had seen William, and known him as Solomon, but William, or Solomon, had not remembered him. Then he had felt it, this pain that was like something breaking, because of Solomon; now it was because of William, because his William was refusing to recognize him. He wouldn't let it go on. He wouldn't.

Dantalion crossed the room in an instant. He crouched down in front of William, seizing him by the collar and dragging him forwards. "William!"

Some buried instinct for self-preservation jerked him briefly out of the land of the lost. Fear sprung to William's eyes, and even though it hurt Dantalion even more to see it, it was a great deal better than the previous lack of emotion. William saw him, recognized him, and the fear became confusion.

"William!" Dantalion yelled again.

William whispered, "I don't understand. He wanted to live…"

"William…" Red eyes became soft with concern.

"Why?" William begged, of a demon who couldn't answer and a god who wasn't listening. "He only wanted to come here one more time… he only wanted…"

And then there were no more words, just a strangled cry of distress and utter heartbreak, and William threw himself, sobbing, at Dantalion. Surprised, Dantalion wrapped his strong arms around William's shaking body, holding him upright, keeping him safe, protecting him from the rest of the world. William buried his face in Dantalion's shoulder, because he couldn't face the world alone, and Dantalion did not stop him, because even if he didn't understand, it was what William needed.

"It's my fault," William choked. "He left because of me-"

"No," Dantalion interrupted him, harshly but truthfully. William flinched back, and Dantalion let him go. "No. We all chose this ourselves, William. It's not your fault. It was our choice. It _is_ our choice."

"Don't ever leave me!" William pleaded. "Please! Don't leave me!"

And there was a smile on Dantalion's face, the heart-breaking smile of someone who is happy because he has found something precious to him, but at the same time is sad because he knows that one day he will lose it, no matter how much he cares about it. And there was a new flame in his eyes, the determination of someone who is resolved to fight and die for what he believes in, and for what he loves, even if he does not know it yet.

"I won't leave you, William Twining. I promise."

William was crying again. Even though Dantalion didn't understand, even though he _couldn't_ understand, he simply stood there and held William in his arms. His warmth and his promise was all that William needed. And for Dantalion's part, he was content just to stand there and let William cry on him, because knowing that William was safe, and would recover, was all that _he_ needed.

* * *

They had insisted on keeping Sitri in the hospital wing overnight, much to his annoyance. The wound had closed rapidly – not as quickly as it would have healed in Hell, but still within a matter of hours – and he knew better than anyone when he was able to stand and fight again, but the stupid humans who ran the place had insisted on keeping him in _just to be sure_. Still, he was feeling unusually light-headed, and there was a quiet ringing sound in his ears that no one else seemed able to hear, so perhaps there was some merit in resting - he had to be fully fit if he was going to protect William, after all. Besides, members of his fan club had kept sneaking in to bring him candy and check on him, so he had reluctantly agreed to stay for the night.

However, his patience had run out by the following morning, and he left the hospital wing before anyone could stop him. After all, he had made a promise to William, and he intended to keep it.

But William wasn't there in the dining hall for breakfast that morning, and Isaac didn't know where he was either. Unimpressed by William's uncharacteristic laziness, Sitri hung around outside the classroom where William should have had his first lesson, only to find that he didn't turn up there either.

It was far too unlike William to skip lessons. Bemused, and with growing concern, Sitri excused himself and headed up to William's bedroom, in case he wasn't feeling well and had decided to give classes a miss. His heels clicked softly on the polished floorboards as he strode down the empty corridor. There was no need to worry yet. There was bound to be a normal explanation for William's absence-

Sitri rounded the corner and came to a sudden halt.

He saw what was left of William's door, and knew immediately whose handiwork that was.

He saw William, with his eyes squeezed shut, distraught and shaking and in need of someone to lean on.

No, more than that – he saw William crying in Dantalion's arms.

And he saw the look in Dantalion's eyes; a most undemonic compassion.

Without a word, Sitri turned around and walked away.


	6. Sitri - ADORATION PART 1

**_A/N: _**_Ehe. Sorry about the last chapter (and for running away from responding to anyone afterwards... I felt bad enough as it was!). But I did say that not everyone could get a happy ending... and I loved Camio too, you know! :'(_

_On a more relevant note, Sitri is very confused in this chapter. I was confused about various things in my life while writing this and I pushed a lot of that onto him at the start (sorry Sitri!). Equally, though, I'm certain he doesn't understand his own feelings either. Until he works that out, he'll continue to contradict himself and say things he doesn't mean. Adoration has three parts and it will start to take shape a lot more clearly later on... so without further ado, I hope you enjoy this slightly less depressing chapter... ~CS_

_(Seriously, though. When WAS the last time he actually won a battle? :P )_

* * *

**Dark Dawn Revolution**

_by CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

**ADORATION PART 1**,

or The Pining Of A Fallen Angel For All That Was Once Beautiful

The High Council of Hell was looking more than a little worse for wear.

Of the four demon lords who should have been there united against this threat to their order, one was absent, and one was likely a traitor. Everyone knew what Camio had accused Samael of; whether they believed it or not, or were willing to act on it or not, was another matter. Beelzebub had vanished without a trace, only a few days previous to the summit. His palace had been destroyed by members of the Revolution and his supporters had been scattered to the winds, and although his body had not been found amongst the dead, it was hardly as if there were any processes for formal identification or corpse removal any more. Those still loyal searched for their masters, and those with family ties or other allegiances recovered the bodies of those they loved, but for the most part, everyone was far too concerned with keeping themselves amongst the living to spare a thought for the state of the dead.

Of the three candidates for Interim Ruler, only Sitri was present. Everyone knew what had happened to Camio. Dantalion had given no official reason for boycotting the meeting, but Sitri knew why he hadn't turned up, and hated him for it. Lamia sat in his place at Astaroth's side, although she didn't have half his power. She held any authority at all only because of her lineage. Still, under these circumstances, you surrounded yourself with anyone you thought you could trust, and were grateful that you had any support at all. Astaroth had been hit hard by the Revolution, and her position was further weakened by Dantalion's absence from the meeting. As her friend and loyal warrior, as well as one of now only two candidates for Interim Ruler, he was Astaroth's greatest asset.

Although it wasn't as if the race to become Interim Ruler meant anything any more. What would be the point in temporarily ruling over a Hell that was about to tear itself apart? Dark Dawn were already prepared to kill Hell's formerly-undisputed king in order to free them from Solomon's control and rule Hell themselves; what was the likelihood that Lucifer's replacement, given authority only by Solomon's Elector, would suddenly be accepted by them? Perhaps, if William had chosen someone before the rebels had made their move, Hell would have been able to rally around their new leader and stop the Revolution before it managed to gain any ground. Now, Hell had fallen too far into turmoil to be able to muster up any kind of united resistance.

In short: Lucifer still slept, there was no Interim Ruler, Hell's former leaders had had to fight their way through the masses to reach this meeting, and the only people with any sort of authority in this broken world were those waiting in the heart of the revolution to seize it. To say that Hell was in trouble was something of an understatement, and the mood of the meeting certainly reflected that sentiment.

The only one in the room who seemed at all at ease was Samael. "It's a shame Lord Beelzebub couldn't join us," he remarked.

Astaroth turned her dark eyes upon him. "Do you know where he is?"

Both Sitri and Dantalion had read the letter that Camio had left behind, and neither of them doubted anything he had said, not now. Clearly Astaroth had taken Dantalion's side, and did not trust Samael either.

Samael shrugged, closing his single visible eye. "I heard he was last seen fleeing Hell. You can hardly blame him, though. His palace is gone, his army slaughtered, and now he no longer has his candidate either. It's such a shame."

Beneath the circular table, Sitri clenched his fists. He did not make eye contact with anyone else sat at the table, or the bodyguards and influential friends hovering in the shadows behind them, but looked down, his delicate mouth set in anger. He wasn't there because they considered him important, but because Baalberith had ordered him to come so that he could gloat to the other territorial lords that it was his candidate in the strongest position now that Camio was gone and Dantalion was playing the maverick. He seemed to be under the impression that the candidacy still meant something.

Baalberith had also ordered him to sit there and look pretty. He had been most displeased when Sitri had left him suddenly to protect William from Lune's assassination attempt, and he had made it clear upon Sitri's return that the consequences would be dire if he deserted his master again. If he were not so angry now, Sitri might have shivered at the memory, but his heart was beating too fiercely to care. It wasn't as if he had cared particularly about Camio, but, in the end, they had fought for the same cause, which was more than could be said for some of the others at the table with him.

If Baalberith hadn't been watching so closely, Sitri would have spoken out in Beelzebub's defence. Fortunately, Astaroth seemed to be of the same mind.

"At least he tried!" she snapped. "His lieutenant, Eligos, led their armies successfully against three cities held by Dark Dawn-"

"Before she was defeated!" Samael laughed. "And her army was obliterated!"

"But she tried. She rallied support, and she fought back. United, we can defeat these rebels."

"United? By all accounts, Marchioness Eligos didn't even have the support of her own lord!"

"And why might that have been, Samael? Why was it that Beelzebub was targeted first? Because he, Camio, Eligos – they were the ones who would pose the greatest threat to a revolution, no? And who would know that?"

Samael grinned. "I do hope you're not accusing me, my dear Astaroth."

Baalberith interrupted, "Perhaps you are simply underestimating the power of these… these 'rebels', as you call them."

"Then how did they get so much power?" she retorted. "Tell me this: how could a demon with no rank defeat a Great President of Hell?"

A cold voice answered, and Sitri was surprised to hear that it was his own. "She didn't."

"Sitri, hold your tongue!" Baalberith warned, but Sitri ignored him. His master had done surprisingly well out of the revolution so far, after all.

Sitri stood up so quickly that more than one demon skulking in the back of the room drew some form of weapon. Then he swayed, and nearly fell back into his seat. There was a distant metallic grating sound in his ears; the room was spinning in front of him. _Not this again_… while sat down, he had been fine, but the sudden movement had triggered another attack. He locked his fingers around the edge of the table to steady himself until it had passed, and then he spoke. "She didn't beat Camio."

"Oh?" Samael retorted. "Then how do explain the _two _bodies we found in the Place of the Doors? The she-demon, with our own Great President's blade through her chest, and he, having later bled to death from wounds sustained during the battle – both dead, and you say that he still won?"

Sitri's beautiful blue eyes, ice-like and ferocious when he wanted them to be, locked onto Samael's. "There was someone else there."

"And what proof do you have of this?" Was that a tremor in Samael's voice, or just that hallucinatory clashing sound again?

Sitri said nothing, but he smiled, and this time he was certain that Samael's eyes narrowed.

Then that unearthly screeching noise returned, and before he could even raise his hands to protect himself, Sitri fell face-first onto the table and the entire world stopped.

* * *

_When Lord Baalberith told me that he knew what I ultimately wanted was to return to Heaven, he was only half-right._

_Beauty is the only thing that makes life worth living. That was one thing that those fools in Heaven understood. In that time that I do not speak of, and think about only when in the embrace of a nightmare, I walked amongst the angels and felt the wonder of life there. I cannot explain what it is like to someone who has never seen it, and nor do I wish to, for the chance of such a person being able to understand it is laughable. They understood there that life is beauty, and living it is magic, and to strive for God's perfection is the purpose of our being._

_Yet, when a man or angel is surrounded by such splendour, what has he to work for? For the angels are lazy, and pathetic, and they were and always will be content to sit and look at what they have in Heaven, and let the world pass them by. One tiny, narrow corner of the vast universe is perfect, so they have eyes only for that, and the rest of the world can fall and its people can burn for all they care. They could have crushed the demons when they first began to rise under fallen Lucifer, but the early world outside their Eden was too ugly for them to bear, so they turned their faces away and dreamed of the beautiful paradise in which they lived._

_Did Lucifer understand what it was that I came to realize? I think so. What they do – carrying out God's orders because it is all they know, and aiming for his ideal because that is what they have been told is beautiful – is pathetic and shallow and meaningless. What they have in Heaven is a mere reflection of true beauty, and it enslaves those foolish white-winged beings. Human souls are lured in by the façade it hides behind, and by the time they realize that it was all just an illusion, it is too late for them to back out, and they have become slaves for all eternity. They'll tell you otherwise; of course they will. They'll say that it is for love of the benevolent creator of the world, or the eradication of sin, or the extension of paradise across the whole universe, that they do Heaven's will, but only because they have been so deceived._

_Beauty is found in a person's free will, so the demons proclaimed; so Baalberith said to me. The true exquisiteness of creation is found in its ability to choose. Taken in and deceived by the wonder of their surroundings and the gifts that God has bestowed on them, the angels do not make their own choices, but do what God wills them to do. He does not even need to punish them or give them orders any more; His words, and the words of the archangels, are law because it is believed that to deny them is to turn away from the beauty of Heaven. Humans are the worst. Just the slightest glimpse of paradise will make them throw away everything for Heaven, even their own free will._

_An angel who knows this cannot stay in Heaven. Rebellion is dangerous; free will, amongst the subordinates, is a threat. And an angel who understands this is driven to scorn Heaven, and detest it, because the imperfections behind the mirage of beauty are all too visible. Once an angel has the truth, they either take it to their graves, or they leave to find another ideal._

_In Heaven, I was simply one of many beautiful beings; in Hell, I outshone everyone. Even to Solomon I was the most beautiful, a delicate flower, beloved by him and loved and respected in Hell. I was special. I was powerful, as I had never been as an angel. I was finally free to make my own decisions, and through that I had found the beauty of the world in myself and my actions, and it shone with a lustre the likes of which those fools in Heaven would never know. I had found myself, and I felt I had become the most beautiful thing in all of existence._

…

_And what did it get me?_

_I am Baalberith's puppet. I am there to look pretty at his side. I am free to do what I want so long as it aligns with what he wants. He nominated me as a candidate so that once I was elected, he would control Hell through me. The most polite of the high-class demons only laugh at me when my back is turned._

_Even to Solomon, I was only one of seventy-two, and amongst them, I do not stand out. I was not the first, nor the last, nor the one he spent so much time learning and debating with, like Camio, or the one he entrusted with the task of ending his own life when the need arose, like Dantalion. _

_Yes, I have the power befitting a Viscount and Prince of Hell, but in this world, and at this time, it is meaningless. When was the last time I won a battle that counted for anything? I lost to Dantalion. I lost to the Pastor at Stradford School. I was injured trying to protect William from a horde of pathetic, low-level demons without rank, and was only saved by Dantalion and Camio's intervention. I lost to Michael, the archangel, and that would have been acceptable, if Dantalion hadn't then successfully held him off. I would have lost to Lune, had the disturbance caused by Camio not caused her to retreat. I am strong but in theory only, because what does strength matter if I cannot use it to protect the Elector from harm? About as much as a title and its authority matters, when you are a lord in name only, and viewed as a useless puppet._

_And William? Well, like everybody else, he is enamoured of my beauty and can't stand to be apart from me…_

_But what else? Perhaps he sees nothing else, just as Solomon didn't. He hasn't elected me – he _won't_ elect me. Sometimes I think that I might be able to make him see how crucial it is that he chooses me… but won't that just show how pathetic I am underneath? Maybe if I keep pretending… no, it won't change anything. Dantalion was the first; Dantalion is the one capable of protecting him; Dantalion is the one that he turns to when he needs someone… Even when I came for him the other day, I know he was surprised to see me, because he had been expecting Dantalion, calling Dantalion, waiting for Dantalion. The fact that he is Nephilim and can change nothing even as Interim Ruler, the fact that I am the only one fit to rule Hell, never did make a difference to him, who doesn't care about my realm's affairs. I'll just stay away, like I have been doing. Maybe it doesn't even matter any more. Maybe Hell will destroy itself. _

…_How could he choose that Nephilim as leader over a true-bred demon like myself?_

_I don't want to return to Heaven. I just want to have something more in life than myself. Wouldn't mindless servitude be preferable to this aching loneliness? Even if I knew it was false, wouldn't having something to believe in be better than having nothing at all?_

* * *

As soon as he could, Sitri opened his eyes and struggled to analyze his situation. He was, after all, no stranger to hardship or battle, and fighting adversity had become second nature to him after all those years. What had seemed like just a moment to him had evidently been longer to the others at the table. The room was dark and empty. What had happened? He gathered from the ceiling ahead of him that he was lying on his back atop the table they had sat around earlier, but his entire body felt weightless and numb. It was not the first time since taking that wound from Lune that he had felt overpoweringly dizzy, but it was the first time it had caused him to pass out.

With a groan, he pushed himself into a sitting position. That was when he became aware that he was not alone in that room of shadows. Sat on the table, watching Sitri intently, was the Eastern Duke of Hell, Samael. Sitri tensed automatically, but if Samael wanted a fight, he could have made short work of him while he was unconscious.

"You're not looking too well," Samael commented, with a mocking glint in his eye.

In the absence of any physical responses from his body, Sitri's emotions were working on overdrive. Samael was his superior, but he no longer cared. No one else in Hell did, anyway. With narrowed eyes, and a voice as strong and self-confident as it ever was, he retorted, "Neither do you. You seem very worried."

"Do I?" Samael asked, casual and smooth.

"Could it be? Someone has your ring, don't they?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Solomon's ring." This time, Samael failed to hide his visible reaction. Emboldened, Sitri continued, "Lune was wearing it when she fought me, but when her body was recovered alongside Camio's, she no longer had it. Someone has your ring – the same someone who appeared to finish off Camio after he had defeated Lune. It bothers you, doesn't it?"

Samael shrugged. "Not really. Turns out it holds no great power without Solomon anyway."

"What were you trying to do with it?" Sitri accused.

"Nothing you should worry your pretty little head over," Samael laughed. "You should just leave Hell to those of us with the power and will to rule it properly, and stick to that pathetic little human world that you love so much."

"You-"

Samael sprung to his feet, his athletic body uncoiling with such a speed that he was a blur across Sitri's hazy vision. "So long, Viscount Sitri. You may live, on account of the fact that there is nothing you can do… and it's going to be so much fun watching you fail. There won't be a place for you in new Hell, so enjoy it while you can."

"Do you think I can't stop you?"

"No, I don't think that you really care enough to try, pretty little puppet." He turned to leave, and then paused. "I'd guess that you've only got a few days to live anyway… and that's if you're stronger than you look. That spear of Lune's is a nasty piece of work, don't you agree?"

Sitri watched him go in silence, and it was a long time before he could bring himself, mentally or physically, to drag himself away from the table.

* * *

The sun was shining, but it was a winter's sun – the kind that cast painfully-bright glares onto anything and everything while doing little to warm the world. In a way, it represented the mood that had settled over William's life. On the surface, everything seemed bright and sunny and back to normal, but underneath, the warmth of the early summer was absent. He had hoped that the demons' return would make things alright again, but that was not to be, not when one of them would never return again. There was a hole in his heart that could not be filled; a chill which no amount of false sunshine could warm.

He was brooding as he walked, as he often did these days. It was not the upcoming exams that occupied his mind, as his route – away from the library and towards the sports fields – attested to.

It was early in the morning; not so early that the sun had yet to rise, but early enough so that only the sports fanatics were awake and outside. Shouts from the river marked the presence of the school's rowing team, who practised at this hour of the morning whatever the weather. Jacob House had never been known for its rowers, but now that the Head Boy had disappeared – leaving the Headmaster's House without its best crewmember – and athletic Dantalion had taken up rowing for their team, they had suddenly found themselves in a promising position, and so had begun to take it seriously. Dantalion, viewing this as yet another aspect of his training in the human world, had embraced their new regime eagerly, and drove the team harder than the coach ever had – though William suspected that he enjoyed the adoration of the rowing team as much as Sitri loved being the centre of attention of his fan club.

As per usual, thinking of the demons made the clouds gather in the wintery world of William's mind, but in this instance, it had to be done.

Stopping on the slope of the riverbank, William watched as the two boats pulled in closer to the dock, each rower giving everything they could to get ahead, even though it was just a stupid warm-up race and counted for nothing in the real world. In the end, it would get them nowhere, so what was the point in trying so hard?

When the mock race finished, the crews disembarked to take a breather on the shore, so William went to find Dantalion in the crowd.

"Morning, William!" the demon crowed upon seeing him. His black hair was soaked through and stuck out at all angles, as if frozen in place by the chill wind. Those eyes, the only things which seemed to be able to bring any cheer to William's world, glittered with life. "I wasn't expecting to see you out here so early!"

Sombrely, William asked, "Do you have a minute, Dantalion?"

Dantalion glanced over to the rest of his crew, and shrugged. "Sure," he replied, more than a little bemused.

They walked together until there was enough distance between them and the others for them to be able to talk openly. They faced each other, the tall, well-muscled demon with his arms folded, and the prefect, whose confidence and leadership skills seemed to have deserted him in the way that his eyes were fixed on the ground.

An accidental soft tone slipped into Dantalion's voice before he could stop it. "What is it, William?"

"Where is Sitri?"

"Why would I know?" Dantalion's shrug was casual, but he had immediately become defensive. William had grown far too good at understanding his moods, and now he resented it.

"You _do_ know, don't you?"

"Why do you want to know about _him_?"

William bristled at his tone. "I'm worried about him."

"Why? Because of Camio?"

"Dantalion!" William yelled, and his voice cracked with barely-suppressed grief.

The demon took a step back. It may not have been a proper command, delivered with the power bestowed upon Solomon's heir, but there was still a part of him that was driven to obey William's orders. Unhappily, he explained, "There's a conference in Hell. All the surviving leaders have come together to try and form a resistance to Dark Dawn. Viscount Sitri would have been required to attend."

"Wouldn't you have been required to attend too?"

The sharp desperation was still in William's voice, and though it pained Dantalion to do so, he answered the question. "Yes. But I had more important things to do."

"Like training the rowing team?"

"Like staying by your side."

William laughed, dry and cold and not at all like himself. If Dantalion was trying to win him back with phrases like that then it was never going to work, not now. "You should have been there."

Although his eyes narrowed, Dantalion gave no verbal response.

"Don't you care what happens to Hell?"

"Why do you care, all of a sudden? I thought you didn't believe in Hell."

"Why hasn't he come back?"

"Why would I know?"

"Dantalion!"

"Why do you care about him, William? You don't need him. You only need me. If you elect me, then you won't be a target any more, and-"

"I can't believe you!" William yelled. "You're still going on about that? Hell's fallen apart, Sitri's disappeared, Camio's _dead_, and all that you care about is becoming Interim Ruler – how could you? How could you bring that up, Dantalion? I don't believe you."

And with that, he turned and ran across the dry grass.

Dantalion didn't try to stop him. "I guess that wasn't what I meant to say, William," he mused to the wind and the chill and the solemn emerald trees, and he did not go back to rowing practise, not that day nor ever after.

* * *

One step. Two steps.

When had it become so hard to walk that Sitri had been reduced to counting single paces, and, worse, considered each one to be a triumph?

Another step. He would have laughed at himself, if he had had the energy for it, and if it wasn't taking all his concentration just to stay upright. The next step took his white-clad foot into something soft which sank under his heel with a squirt of blood. There hadn't been this many corpses when they had entered the council chambers, he was sure of it. An ambush? He considered it likely. Why else would Samael bother turning up to such a meeting when he knew everyone believed he was a traitor, except to brazenly gloat as they were taken by surprise? Still, it looked as if Baalberith and Astaroth had managed to escape, and they seem to have cleared him a path.

Where was he going? He didn't know. Perhaps it didn't matter. It was hard to think over the metallic grating sound that had resumed again in his mind; someone scraping steel against steel in a horrendous battle hymn – or perhaps a funeral song. He knew why it wouldn't go away, but that didn't help him to block out the sound. He didn't have the willpower to spare for that, between pushing himself beyond the limits of his body and continuing to place one foot in front of the other.

Somewhere, a rogue demon that was not quite dead yet pushed itself up from the ground and leapt towards him. Sitri moved on pure instinct, blasting it out of the air with a flash of light from his palm. Good, he still had enough power to protect himself. That thought made it a little easier to carry on, and he continued to limp across the once-grand courtyard. Another half-blind, half-dead demon sprung at him; whether to attack him or to plead for help, Sitri didn't know. He didn't much care either, shooting that one down too before it could get close enough to touch him.

There was blood on his elegant outfit now. Most of it wasn't his; his wounds weren't the kind which bled. It was fitting, he thought, as he destroyed another two demons who failed to heed the example of their deceased companions. There was no beauty in this battle, nor grace, nor elegance; there was none of that left in Hell, nor in him. He just kept killing them, in order to preserve his own life, so that he could keep breathing, and he could keep putting one foot in front of the other, and he could- what? What was it he was hoping to achieve with the rest of his fading life? He couldn't go back to William. He couldn't stop Samael. He couldn't save Hell. What was there left that was worth fighting for?

More enemies had appeared now. Glancing around, Sitri realized with a start that he had left the building of the meeting behind a long time ago, and had strayed into uncharted territory. It might once have been a city, or a grand castle; now it was just a mass of rubble and blood and the dead and the half-dead. A battle had been fought here, and his Hell had lost it – whether the forces still striving for order underneath Beelzebub or Astaroth had won or lost that particular skirmish with the supporters of Dark Dawn didn't matter. The very fact that the battle had taken place at all, and that it had brought such wanton destruction to the area, was a victory for the Revolution. There was no hope left for the old way. Camio had believed that there was, and he had died for it. A loyal hero he may have been, but he was still a dead one. Sitri had believed that there was hope too, or at least a reason for fighting, when he had stood up earlier and mocked Samael, but that had come to nothing too. He wasn't strong enough either. Now he wandered as one of the half-dead himself, surviving and destroying and waiting for his life to end.

He lowered his head and raised his hands and, just for a moment, danced in the blazing blue light of the remnants of his power. His opponents fell; he was still alive. If only it was so easy to save Hell. To save himself. To save William – why did his thoughts keep drifting back there? It wasn't as if he missed the Elector's company. He had made his decision, and Sitri had made his-

The Doors. They appeared from nowhere – as, he supposed, they were wont to do. Now they were beautiful, and always would have the power to move his heart, even in this place of death and hopelessness. Sitri stared up at them, uncomprehending. If his brain had been a little more awake, he might have fallen to his knees in reverence. Power still hummed within that false wooden structure, resonating with what little he still possessed himself, and returning some of the strength to his limbs.

_What if we had that power? _The thought struck Sitri out of nowhere. No wonder Samael and the others wanted to kill Lucifer and take his power for themselves. With that strength, even now, he felt sure that they would be able to turn this battle around and destroy Dark Dawn. If only they had access to Lord Lucifer's power, they might still be able to win.

"Why?"

Sitri spoke out loud, even though he knew that no one could hear him; the Doors may have been powerfully symbolic, but they were mere inanimate objects nonetheless. "Why do you still sleep? We're doing this for you. We're all fighting, all dying… for you…"

The Doors were fading again, back to whichever cowardly dimension they usually inhabited, but it didn't stop Sitri from dashing forwards and raising one slim, feminine fist to pound on them with all his failing strength. "Why? If we only had a fraction of the power you have-"

And then he froze in sudden understanding. Because that was why the candidacy for Interim Ruler was still important, wasn't it? Because that was the importance of being elected-

* * *

_The importance of being elected, to me? _

_Sometimes I would think that if I could convince William of it, he'd see clearly how the only one he could choose would be me. If nothing else, I was by far the superior candidate. Electing me was important because I wasn't a half-blood like Camio, or even worse, a filthy Nephilim. They were inferior, if not in power, then at least in standing. They didn't have the authority or the respect needed to unite Hell and hold it all together when our king Lucifer was at his weakest. I was the pure-blood demon; I was the obvious choice. Besides, I far outshone them in the areas where it mattered. I had spent most of my life in Baalberith's court, dealing with the other lords of Hell in that deadly political dance. I was adept at it; knew it just as well as I knew combat and strategy and the other side of life in Hell. Camio was a loner and a drifter, who was absent from important meetings just as often as he attended them and used his authority as Great President only when he absolutely had to; Dantalion was a maverick who cared just as little for the affairs of the ruling court and who had never truly abandoned his love for humanity. Both of them have shown over and over again since the race for Interim Ruler began that they are more powerful and more capable in battle than I am, but there is more to life than brute strength – something that that meathead Dantalion had certainly never understood._

_But William doesn't understand that. I don't know what he sees in Dantalion, but he does see _something_ – he always looks right past me to do so. Trickery and deceit are forbidden in the competition for leadership, but somehow that brutish Nephilim has managed to fool the Elector. How else could he possibly prefer Dantalion to my beauty, my elegance, my expertise?_

_It should be me he chooses. I should be the Interim Ruler. It's obvious to everyone who looks that I'm the better candidate… the better choice!_

_William, why aren't you looking at me? Is it because of him? What does he have that I do not?_

…

_I guess, even to you, I'm nothing more than Baalberith's puppet._

_Even though I defied him for you, so that you might choose me; so that you might see me for who I really am._

_The reason why being elected is so important to me that I will try to trick you and threaten you and blackmail you into choosing me – it's because I wanted to be something more than that._

_Like everyone else, you were charmed by my beauty, William. You couldn't help but love me, as much as you tried to pretend otherwise. But… for the first time since leaving Heaven, it didn't feel right. It didn't feel like me you were in love with, but the shadow of beauty that was Baalberith's puppet. Even though you weren't from Hell and couldn't possibly know about my history, you knew, just as Solomon had known… that the person you saw before you was pathetic._

…

_But you're not Solomon. Though I came to realize that too late, I am sure that, subconsciously, I knew it all along. Solomon had been enchanted by my beauty too, and even more enchanted by how false it was. He kept me, and I loved him, even though he mocked me for my hollowness and tormented me with the truth about what I was._

_This is difficult for me to say… but it is the truth. It is the _only _truth, that _you are not Solomon_. With you, I felt once again that desire to be better, to be something more, that drove me to abandon Heaven in the first place. I think… I wanted to be worthy of you. No – that can't be right. You, a lowly human, are the one who isn't worthy of me, even if you are the Elector. _

_But still… I wanted to show you that I was more than just a pretty little puppet. I would do more than just defy Baalberith for you; I would turn my back on everything that I had become. I would no longer be his to command. I wouldn't do anything that he said – I wouldn't have to, because I'd have the power to stand on my own. Somehow, I felt that I could do that; turn my back on everything and be my own person; show the world who I really was, and stop pretending. And so I defied his wishes and resisted his threats and stayed by your side even when he ordered me to return for his games – because of you. _

For_ you. Because then you would elect me._

_Yes, that sounds right. Then you'd choose me, and I'd be the Interim Ruler, and I could start again, as myself._

_That's the importance, to me, of being elected. _

…

_William, I know that you're secretly a dear and sentimental person. Maybe if I had told you this when we were together, it might have moved you to my side far more effectively than any threats or promises I could have made, and that feeling is one of many that confirms you are not like Solomon. But… I just couldn't say it. Even now, what's left of my conscious mind is telling me that I can only admit to these thoughts now because the rational, defensive part of me that has kept me alive and successful all these years as Baalberith's false, beautiful puppet is too busy keeping me on my feet to care about what the romantic part of me is confessing. I don't understand these feelings, and I can't put them into words. All I'm sure of is that I wanted you to see me for who I really am, because then I believe you would have chosen me… _

_Chosen me to be Interim Ruler, of course. How could you not have done?_

_The importance of being elected… for me, it was never about the power to rule Hell, but the power to finally take back rule of myself. You, William, were the one who was going to save me from myself._

_But-_

* * *

"It's not me!" Sitri yelled at the fading doors. Uncharacteristic desperation marred his beautiful face for anyone out there in the wastelands to see it. "I can't help you! He didn't choose me!"

Because it was the truth.

His victory had been lost ever since he returned from the hospital and found William in Dantalion's arms.

_Even though I was the one who came back to save him from Lune, when Dantalion didn't._

It wasn't that image in particular which had broken him, of course – why would he care about that? It was only because it meant his chance to be chosen as Interim Ruler was gone forever. That was the only reason why he had stayed with William, had fought for him, had risked his life time and time again to save William's, after all. Because he was the Elector, and he had to power to save Sitri, and he had shunned him for Dantalion.

_Even though I'm the one out here now, lost, alone… and dying._

Because that was also the truth. He had known Lune's spear of darkness was cursed just as Camio had; he had known, when he had jumped in front of William and saved him, that it would inevitably bring about the end of his life. Lune had known it, Samael had known it, the awful metal chorus in his head knew it, and even his beautiful body, which had fought until the end for him, had come to accept the certainty of it. The physical wound had closed, but the contagion had spread, and he no longer had the strength to stand against it.

He fell to his knees, alone in the middle of the abandoned desolation. Thought and reality, dreams and fact – they all blurred together in his mind, here in the emptiness on the edge of death. He was strangely calm. It wasn't acceptance of his fate – Sitri was a demon, a proud demon, and he would never give up on life so easily. It was, more likely, the knowledge that it didn't really matter either way.

_I'm dying. William didn't choose me. William didn't choose me, so I'm dying. _Was that how it was? He wasn't even sure any more, and it certainly didn't make a difference. But… did it have to be here? He could go somewhere else. There was always Baalberith… he could crawl back to his uncle and sleep in his arms once again, as if everything he had felt about becoming stronger and breaking free of Baalberith's strings counted for nothing as soon as true hardship arose.

_I'm better than that. _And: _even if I mean nothing to the Elector, I'm better than he is, and I won't discard what _he_ did for _me_ so easily._

What had they said, at the meeting, before he had collapsed? Astaroth had been planning to lead an army in from the south, which had been hurt the least of all four dukedoms in the initial rebellion. It would probably do little, but at least it was something: one last defiant stand against the Dark Dawn Revolution. One last fight to the death before Lucifer's Doors, protecting their king and their way of life with everything they had left. It wouldn't be safe for him there – but there wasn't anywhere safe at all any more, where he could just curl up in a ball, guarded by people he trusted, and be taken care of until he got better. He might as well use the last of his breath in a final suicidal stand.

The Doors had vanished completely. Maybe they had gone to find a hero. Maybe they had gone to find _Dantalion_.

_Well, you're out of luck_, he thought, because his throat could no longer produce words. _He's not here. He ran away. He's safe beyond the reach of any ordinary demon, and that's where he'll still be when-_

Sitri's blue eyes widened.

_No. I will not beg help from the Nephilim._

As horrific as the thought was, though, it was tempting. The Dark Dawn Revolution concerned itself solely with Hell. The human world was the safest place he could be right now. They wouldn't bother to pursue him, especially not with Dantalion there.

_I will not beg the filthy Nephilim!_

…_But if I did go back, William would be there._

For some reason, that thought was strangely pleasing to his delirious mind. It made it seem less like running away. Not that he could do much here. He wasn't running away from anything but certain death… and when he put it that way, how could he refuse that slight glimmer of hope? Calling all the remainder of his unearthly power to him, he smashed through the boundary between his world and William's, which had become so familiar to him over the past few months, and let it carry him through into the void.


	7. Sitri - ADORATION PART 2

_**A/N: **Please don't be too harsh on William. He's going through a hard time, and there's absolutely no one he can talk to about it - none of the demons had the same relationship with Camio that he did. Certainly they won't understand his guilt, or his (too human?) heartbreak at losing someone close to him... and that sort of isolation from those you love, even when - especially when - you're physically close, drives people to do stupid things in desperation... :(_

_On another note, I greatly enjoyed ranting about exams. I was a bit stressed when writing this, as I was waiting for my first ever set of university exam results - the first time I had ever really panicked over an exam - and so began a rather roundabout way of actually getting to the point of this chapter ^^' But hey. I'm sure someone can come up with an intelligent-sounding reason for the juxtaposition of exam stress and the collapse of Hell for me ;) ~CS_

* * *

**Dark Dawn Revolution**

_by CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

**ADORATION PART 2**,

or The Pining Of A Fallen Angel For All That Was Once Beautiful

The northernmost bank of the river had become a haven for William.

It was a secluded spot, far enough away from the school buildings and sports fields for the rushing of the river to overwhelm the chatter of students and exertion of sportsmen, but not so far that he wouldn't be able to hear the bells announcing the beginning of class if he lost track of time – as if that would ever be a pressing concern for Stradford School's top student. He had discovered it during a cursory exploration of the grounds shortly after he started at the school, and thought it would make a quiet little retreat where he could study in peace when the hustle and bustle of the school day became overwhelming. Of course, when his academic life had begun in earnest, he had realized that the only sensible place for someone as diligent as him to study was the school's extensive library - and besides, there was no time in his hectic prefect's schedule to spend playing in the grounds like a child.

In the end, it had worked out for him in a way that he could never have imagined back when that young and innocent William had first caught a glimpse of the beautiful glade. Because he had never had the chance to spend time there, there were no lingering memories attached to it. Unlike the dining hall, or the classrooms, or the library, or even the dormitories, there was nothing here to hurt him with painful visions of a better time. The scent of the outside world was almost new to him, and continually changing, unlike the musty smell of the old library or the vanilla polish the cleaners used in Jacob House or the unhealthy sweat of students trapped in the stress of the impending exams. The babble of the river was far more comforting than the cacophony of sound in the common room – especially when said cacophony was filled with every voice except the ones he wanted to hear the most. There was colour in the glade, and life, and its problems were a million miles away from suffering and death and overwhelming loneliness. With the river before him and the boundary of the trees at his back, maybe, if he kept coming back here, he could become a part of its happily oblivious existence.

As far as he was aware, no one else knew about the little grove. Well, Dantalion was the exception, having followed William there on his first couple of visits, but once he had asked the demon to stay away, they only saw each other from a distance. For each day that passed with Sitri still missing and Camio still dead, the two grew further and further apart. William hoped that Dantalion understood, but knew that he probably did not.

The first two times he had escaped to the glade he had brought some study books with him, with the vain hope that he would be able to put his worries aside and focus on the upcoming exams; in that, he had been mistaken, so he had quickly given up. Today he had made an effort – beside him on the overturned log sat a copy of _Hamlet_, annotated in his own hand. He had an exam on it in less than two weeks, but time had taken on a dreamlike quality in William's world, and two weeks could pass in anything from two days to two months.

Nonetheless, he had intended to read over it that afternoon, but he had been unable to get beyond the title page. At some point when he hadn't been paying close enough attention to his belongings, Sitri had illustrated it with a sketch of himself dressed as Ophelia. William had forgotten that was there, and seeing it once again hurt more than he had thought possible.

No matter how hard he tried to run and hide from it all, he couldn't get away from the past… or the present.

Still, he would try, keep tunnelling down into the sand until-

He picked up the book and was about to hurl it into the river when he caught sight of the body floating above the water. No, not just that – it was Sitri. Sitri, lying in mid-air above the water below, while the air around him crackled and swam and hissed its displeasure at being disturbed.

"Sitri!" William yelled without even thinking about it. There was no room for rational thought once panic had flooded his mind; the idea of rekindling his usual dispassionate façade around the demons didn't even occur to him. The book fell from his fingers as he leapt to his feet. He dashed forwards until his shoes sank into the river mud and he still didn't think about stopping; only thought that if he jumped high enough he might be able to reach Sitri before-

A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. William barely had time to register its owner as Dantalion – _has he been there watching over me in silence this whole time? _– before he found himself sprawled on the grass, and the demon was launching himself up towards the sky. Then Dantalion was safely back on the riverbank, Sitri's limp form in his arms, without giving William a chance to say anything.

"Dantalion-" William began, and the rest of his words came out as a strangled choke. He tried again: "Is he alright?"

"I don't know."

"Help him. Dantalion, please. If there's anything you can do-"

The demon turned his deep red eyes to William, and the alien feeling lurking within them cut William off halfway through his sentence. But William would not give in, would not let him speak, would not stop until he had done everything he could to prevent this from happening _again_.

"Dantalion, please. He's your friend, isn't he?"

"Tch," was the demon's only response, turning his head away.

But it wasn't a flat denial, and that was enough to tell William that the victory was his.

* * *

William was there when he awoke. The most surprising thing about that thought was that he had awoken at all; if he had thought before sleeping that there might come an after, it would either be with William, or not at all.

William himself was not awake, and Sitri was glad of this. He was far too exhausted to hold a normal conversation, let alone one in which he had to explain himself; far too exhausted, even, to do anything but lie on the uncomfortable board of springs that the human doctors called a bed with his eyes half-shut and gaze without really seeing at William – at whatever happened to be in his fixed line of sight.

To his surprise, sleeping William – slumped in the visitor's chair with his head rolling back and his blonde hair hanging like a sleek curtain in front of his gently-closed eyes – actually looked cute. It was nothing on Sitri himself, of course, but to think that such an arrogant, clumsy human could become somehow sweet when his guard was down… perhaps having someone as beautiful as Sitri around was starting to rub off on him. In his innocent slumber, William looked nothing like Solomon.

He had left a bag of candy on the table by Sitri's bed. So, he had kept his promise, after all. Sitri almost smiled-

Until he saw Dantalion. There he was, half-hidden in the gloom of the doorway, just over William's shoulder. Always there. Not looking at him, but not asleep either, and certainly not unaware. His face was masked by the shadows.

Sitri wondered: _What exactly is going on here?_

Then his waking mind gave up the fight and he fell back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Thus it was for three, four days. Slowly, against the odds, Sitri's strength began to return. He didn't leave the hospital wing, and he ate nothing but candy, but somehow, miraculously, he began to recover. William came to visit often. He didn't ask about what happened, but he clearly wanted to. Maybe it was politeness that held his tongue, or maybe it was something else… fear, perhaps. Fear in a way that couldn't be named but was felt by both of them.

And always when William came, Dantalion did too. He didn't speak, and always kept his distance, but it didn't change the fact that he was always there at William's shoulder. Typical of a Nephilim to use such low tactics – to try and win the Elector's favour while his rival was hospitalized. And it was just his luck that he probably owed his life to said Nephilim. He had no grounds to command or even request that Dantalion left, even if it did feel like he was gloating, mistrustful, hostile… and most certainly an enemy.

Did that mean he had once thought of Dantalion as something other than an enemy?

Of course not. That was a ridiculous thought. They had never been anything but rivals in their struggles to become Interim Ruler. Sitri knew, with an inexplicable certainty, that they would never _be _friends, even if that race meant nothing-

_That's the importance, to me, of being elected. _

-_nothing_ to anyone any more.

Always, he pushed that thought out of his mind; always, there was another confused, circular monologue to take its place. Why didn't he even understand himself? It was probably just a result of his injury, or the collapse of Hell, or the disappearance of all so-called allies… but he didn't like it one bit.

* * *

Once a year, the prefects from all the dorms at Stradford School were given the honour of eating in the Headmaster's House. Though it was a great privilege for those who belonged to lesser Houses, it was hardly looked upon as an auspicious evening by the prefects – something that had only been reinforced when the Headmaster had adopted as the dinner's official title the sarcastic nickname by which the students informally knew it: the "Last Supper". For all who attended it, the formal banquet marked the beginning of the exam period – or the end of the last few days of sanity that any student would have until the summer break began.

It was a sympathy meal, an apology in advance, for everyone knew that the prefects had the worst lot around exam time. Not only did they have to deal with tensions running high in their dorms, along with the stress-related illnesses and ill-tempered fights that sprung from it, but also they had to keep the post-exam celebrations under control until everyone had finished – as well as keeping themselves sane and focussed on their own work during this busy period. It was no secret that the prefects were also the students most expected to do well, and thus were under even more pressure to do well in their exams. At this time of year, no one envied them. However much they might have longed for the same authority and connections and advantages for later life earlier in the year, the other students had nothing but sympathy for them as the exam period lurked just below the horizon. The portentously-named Last Supper certainly brought that home.

William, with that usual optimism that some might describe as masochistic, had been somewhat looking forward to the Last Supper. He was prepared for the challenge – although it might have been more accurate to say that he was too focussed on the excellent grades and the reputation for being a cool-headed, charismatic, dependable prefect that he was certain he was going to get out of it to consider how stressful it might be.

If that had changed at all recently, then sitting in the extravagant splendour of the dining hall of the Headmaster's House, hearing the Headmaster himself toast their bravery in a convoluted Latin speech, and applauding in appreciation as the waiters brought out the first delicious course – a ominously-blood-red soup – certainly brought it back to life.

All the prefects were allowed to bring a guest; in fulfilment of a promise (or more like a bribe) he'd made to Isaac in order to convince him to study, he'd brought his over-eager friend along. Watching Isaac quiver in fear at the Headmaster's speech (even though he probably hadn't understood half of it – he hadn't done nearly as much Latin revision as William had advised) made him think that maybe he'd made a mistake inviting him, but the incredible food and Isaac's short attention span had quickly livened the mood at the table.

Somehow, Dantalion and Sitri had managed to weasel their way into the ceremony too. It was the latter's first day out of the hospital wing, but as far as William knew, the Headmaster's cynical sympathy towards the prefects did not also extend to ordinary students who had been taken ill on the run up to exams. Dantalion certainly didn't have an excuse to be here, and besides, they both seemed far too smug about being here to have achieved invitations through admissible means. There were few enough students who actually desired places at the Last Supper – although, William supposed, if you were a demon, then the results of exams meant nothing and you could just kick back and enjoy the food.

That was certainly the approach that the two were taking, consuming more food in that one meal than William thought he had ever seen them eat in the human world. Dantalion alternated between praising the food of the Headmaster's House and complaining about that served in Jacob House – even going as far as to liken one particular dish to Baphomet's cooking – and Sitri matched him course for course. William was glad to see that the lively sparkle had returned to the latter's sapphire eyes. Just for now, things were going to go back to how they were. It only had to last until the exam period began – once it had, there would be no time to think about anything else.

"Say, William, when's the first exam again?" Isaac queried, breaking through the comfortable chatter.

"Uh, a week on Monday. It's our literature exam, remember?" As was standard, the earliest exams were those taken by the students in lower years, with those in William's year beginning slightly later in the study period.

"Then how are you so calm? It's not fair, William!"

"Ha." William turned his haughty gaze to the ceiling. "When you're a genius like I am, exams are nothing to worry about."

Over Isaac's groan, Dantalion remarked, "I don't see what all the fuss is about."

"Of course someone like you wouldn't," Sitri returned. "I, however, am the idol of my fan club, and I must perform well so as not to let them down. Those poor souls are depending on me to show them how a true beautiful student must act."

"Poor souls indeed," William muttered, earning himself a glare. "Though, I'm certainly disappointed with the amount of time you've spent studying, Dantalion."

"Hey-"

"If nothing else, I was sure the two of you would be trying for a spot on the Honour Student Dinner." Both demons perked up at that. William grinned inwardly. He was far too good at bribing others to work hard – he had had a lot of practice with Isaac. "Oh, you know, the formal dinner the Headmaster puts on in September for the best-performing students in the previous summer's exams. According to the rumours, it's just like this – except with twice as many dishes. And the very best students? They even get to sit at the High Table with the Headmaster, where they serve the best wine from all across Europe! Not to mention the influential guests the Headmaster invites – it's every aspiring politician's dream!" His words dissolved into a burst of crazy, scheming laughter, leaving the others exasperated.

Dantalion turned his gaze towards the table at the end of the room, raised above the others on a small but significant wooden platform. Apart from the guests seated at it, many of whom were fellows of the school or other obviously-important guests instead of just students, it looked no different to the rest of the hall: same uncomfortable wooden chairs, same glittering silver candlesticks, same strangely-appetizing human food (albeit more of it, and the wine). Sitting there was that important to William, huh? "Doesn't look that popular to me," he muttered. "I mean, there's a space right there. I could go sit there now!" There was indeed a spare seat, on the Headmaster's right hand side.

No one spoke. Sitri touched Dantalion's arm; though the contact was slight, there was alarm in it, and caution. Before Dantalion could work out what was going on, Isaac spoke up. He didn't know there was anything more to the situation than an unexplained disappearance (an uncharacteristic but unfortunately not uncommon occurrence around exam time, which would be resolved when the escapee's parents gave him a strict talking-to about family honour and sent him back to school), but he could read the mood at the dinner table far better than Dantalion could, and his voice was sombre: "That's the Head Boy's place."

The rest of the dining hall was as full of lively chatter as ever, but it might as well have been silent to the four of them. Dantalion, Sitri, and even Isaac – moved by worry – looked at William; William stared blankly at the table. Then, without speaking, he picked up a chunk of meat with his fork and placed it into his mouth, chewing slowly, as if the food was ash in his mouth.

He didn't speak again for the rest of the meal.

Things had changed. No matter how they tried to hide that behind this façade of school life, there would always be something out of place; some sign that meant they could never go back to how things were. In that moment, Sitri understood all that, and more: if things had changed, then they had changed William too, and if he could not go back to how he was before, then neither could they. Their unasked-for, unexpected, and yet – he had thought – important, wonderful, and wholly-embraced friendship would never be enough to fill the void that the Revolution was leaving in its wake.

* * *

They left as soon as the Headmaster's final blessing officially ended the dinner. None of them had wanted to linger. Isaac, who couldn't stand the oppressive silence but whose well-intentioned attempts to fill it had only made things worse, had contented himself with filling his stomach instead; now, seven courses later, and feeling much the worse for wear, he had been escorted to the hospital wing by a half-exasperated, half-detached William.

That just left the two demons. They were outside now, in the night, stood in the shadow of the church. The building was as dead and cold as the shadows it cast, its priest, its guardian angel, and even its God having left it. It was not their business as to where the angel who had once watched over William had gone, nor did they much care about him, apart from the final clue he had left them… the one which had pointed them in the direction of Lucifer, and Samael, and…

_And someone else?_

Not that it mattered now – not to those two demons, anyway. They had chosen this last, crumbling illusion over the reality that lay bloodied and battered and broken in Hell. On the surface, the fact that they were conversing about the state of the Revolution seemed to indicate otherwise, but it was the first time they had spoken about such matters since Sitri had returned several days ago. Both had been united in their reluctance to broach the subject, if little else, but it couldn't last, just as this façade couldn't stand up against the truths of the decaying world.

"…the last resistance," Sitri was saying, his soft voice the only whisper in the silent night. "Grand Duchess Astaroth will lead the last united army to the Doors, there to defend our Lord Lucifer until the end."

"If they make it."

"Indeed. Given how bad things are… they'll probably be torn apart by their own allies long before they get within sight of Samael and Lucifer. Things might be different if we had access to our King's power, but while he continues to sleep… there's no way that Hell as it once was can ever recover."

"That's how bad it is, then?"

Sleek blue hair, painted silver by the moonlight, rustled gently as he shook his head. "It hardly bears thinking about."

"You can say that again," Dantalion agreed.

Footsteps in the night broke off their conversation. _William's _footsteps. Both of them knew it with certainty. Anyone else and they would have left to avoid the commotion of having broken curfew; for William, they simply waited for him to find them.

He rounded the corner and stopped. He didn't seem surprised to find them there; wasn't even looking at them. There, in the gloom thrown down by the lifeless chapel, with his hands curled into fists at his side and his gaze directed at the ground just in front of the two demons, he asked in little more than a whisper, "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," came Dantalion's immediate response.

This time, William's voice was a little louder. "That's not what I meant."

A pause.

"What are you doing here at school? Why are you wasting time pretending to be humans who care about exams and sports and formal dinners when your kingdom is on its knees?"

Sitri hesitated; Dantalion did not, but only because his answer was blunt and thoughtless, and obviously stupid to anyone who heard it but him. After all, when one tells a lie often enough, it's easy to forget that it isn't true. "To protect you, the Elector, of course."

"From what?" William snapped. "Calculus? Shakespeare? Or perhaps the old devil himself, exam stress?"

"William-" Sitri tried, to no avail.

"You shouldn't be here, and you know it!" His fists were shaking, but he could not stop it. All that pent-up rage and grief had been set free, and it flowed through him like a tsunami; like the tears of anger and anguish springing to the corners of his eyes. "I can't stand it! Hell _needs_ you, and yet you're acting like nothing is happening! People are dying, your friends are dying, and yet you're here – because of this ridiculous delusion that you have to be with the Elector! People are dying and you're not trying to stop it, you've given up, you're running away, and I hate it! I hate that it's because of me! How could you? You should be there, not here, with your kinsmen and your lords and your friends, but you're wasting your lives here-"

"William…?" Dantalion murmured, confused.

"I hate it! It's cowardly and pathetic, using me as an excuse, and not even thinking about how I would feel about it! They're dying and you won't do anything, because, because-!"

Sitri didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure if there was anything he could say without making things worse. If only Dantalion was as tactful-

But he wasn't, and so the demon, taken aback by William's tearful declaration and thrown onto the defensive by his accusations, replied with a dangerous growl, "If this is about Camio-"

"Of _course _this is about Camio!" William screamed, raising his head and looking straight at them. Eyes of fear and loathing pierced them like arrows. "Because he died! He died doing the right thing – he died trying to save Hell – and yet you-! You two share the same duty that he did, but you're too afraid to carry it out! Camio had the guts to try and change things, and yet you, who live only through his sacrifice, refuse to give his death any meaning; refuse to carry on his fight! Camio was courageous and noble, and he put others above himself – he was a true king of Hell! And yet you run from your duty! I can't stand to look at you! I wish you would just go away!"

"William-!" There was fear in Sitri's voice. Fear, for everything he held dear. If he could somehow communicate that to the other through that one word… but William was beyond understanding. Dantalion started forward. Whether he was trying to console or restrain him, however, Sitri would never find out, as William raised his right hand and pointed his index finger at the two demons.

In a voice that quavered with grief, and still rang with the authority of millennia; that was the shout of a demon and the laughter of an angel; that was both a pleasure to hear and a curse upon the ears; that was William and Solomon and the cracking of the earth and the tearing of the sky, he yelled: "Leave, and that's an order! I don't ever want to see you again! As Solomon, and as the Elector, I command you: leave my world, and never return again!"

He couldn't do that… could he? Negating their powers was one thing, but forcing them to leave-? Sitri wouldn't have thought William was able to do that, but the darkness beginning to swirl in his vision and the sudden feeling of dislocation, of believing he was in one place but knowing he was in another, seemed to disagree.

Still Dantalion fought it, reaching one clawed hand out to William until it would go no further. "William!" he yelled urgently, and when he received no response, it turned to a solemn, bewildered mumble. "Then, you send us to our deaths."

"Camio knew he might not come back, and still he went to do his duty! So how – how can you-? I never want to see you again!"

"William…"

Not understanding.

Trying to resist, but the contract was absolute.

Falling into darkness; falling away from William.

The last thing they saw was his tear-stained face, with those beautiful emerald eyes ruined by wide, red emptiness.

* * *

_He sent me away._

_Why? William, what did I do wrong?_

_All I wanted was to be at your side… Why is that so… so wrong? _

_Why does it make me so sad, that you don't want me around?_

_What... what is this feeling? What is this... this pain?_

* * *

It was Dantalion who got them to Astaroth's old palace. Sitri remembered very little in between arriving in the battlefield that was Hell and reaching relative safety in one of the few forts still standing. It had been Dantalion – Dantalion, who could somehow still think straight; who hadn't lost his mind! – who had half-guided, half-dragged him through the battlefield, blasting rogue demons who tried to stop them out of their way without hesitation. If Sitri was sad and lost, then Dantalion was angry, and he channelled that into motion and determination to get them out of here and not to give in to anyone. He was confused and frustrated and, probably, a little bit sad too, but for some reason, it wasn't drugging the Nephilim's muscles or slowing his thoughts. Somehow, he retained the will to fight… and it was just one more thing that he owed the Nephilim for.

He hadn't realized Dantalion had had a destination in mind until they arrived at the crumbling palace. Once it had been mighty, the grandest building in all of the South, a display of wealth and power befitting the Grand Duchess for whom it was both home and the basis of operations. Now the outer walls were in ruins, and the inner ones, though mostly intact, were blackened by fire. They had no confidence that the great ceilings, where they had survived, were at all structurally-sound. Stained glass windows had been shattered and hastily replaced by wooden boards – better than having no protection at all – and once-treasured tapestries lay in tatters on the scarred ground. Some statues had fallen in an attack; the rest had been intentionally toppled to use as barricades against the invaders.

All in all, compared to the rest of Hell, Astaroth's palace was in relatively good shape. Dantalion knew her guards, though few, had been hand-picked and would be loyal to the end. When the Revolution had struck, and so-called allies revealed their true colours, Astaroth's domain had been relatively unscathed. For Nephilim, who had always been the outcasts of the demon world, sticking with their own kind against the true-bloods who looked down upon them had always been more important than allegiances made to various regional lords; as their leader, Astaroth had been trusted and beloved. This was the only reason she still had any form of control over a largely-disciplined army, no matter how small it was – an army of misfits, outcasts, the impure, the looked-down-upon, the once-human demons known as Nephilim, all that was left to challenge the Dark Dawn and protect what order was left in Hell.

They staggered into what was left of the courtyard, both of them exhausted but physically unharmed. "Astaroth!" Dantalion yelled. One arm was supporting Sitri, the other he raised into the sky. "Astaroth! Are you here? Answer me!"

There was a minute of silence. Then another. And another.

Then a whispered voice, from just out of their sight. "Is that Dantalion?"

"Did someone say Dantalion?"

"Dantalion has returned?"

"Dantalion!" This last one was a voice they both recognized, one of unbelievable relief and gratitude. A concealed door opened in one of the walls and a tall, dark-skinned figure flung herself at Dantalion. Decorum forgotten, the Duchess wrapped her arms around Dantalion and held him tightly.

"Whoa-" Dantalion was taken aback by the improper greeting, but he could not hide the smile on his face.

"I thought you were dead!" Astaroth laughed with joy. "When you disappeared, I was so worried – but to find you here, alive! I'm so glad."

Her gaze turned to Sitri and she sobered, as if she had only just noticed the state of the courtyard and the conditions of the two survivors. "You two had better come inside. We don't have much time left."


	8. Sitri - ADORATION PART 3

_**A/N: **It failed to occur to me when I was writing this fanfic that not everyone reading this would feel the same way about the characters as I did. For example, when I made him a villain without a second thought, it didn't cross my mind that there might be people out there who actually liked Samael (sorry!). As a case in point, I want to talk about Solomon._

_I hate Solomon. I utterly despise him. Every time he appears I have to fight the urge to throw something at the screen. When I watch the series, I almost always stop after episode 10 because the finale just has too high a Solomon concentration to be pleasant viewing. (Don't get me wrong, I do like the ending. I just think it could have been done better. And with a lot less Solomon)._

_What I'm trying to say is that far from being a radical change of opinion, this chapter, for me, represents a step back towards normality. If it seems sudden, it's only because I haven't brought up Solomon before, so my hatred of him has remained mostly hidden. For me, a bit of anti-Solomon feeling is natural for the demons to express, but it has been brought to my attention that some people might find this a bit odd... so here's the advance warning!_

_Of course, the other reason for bringing up Solomon is so I don't have to talk about the contents of this chapter... about which I will say only this: the theme song for this chapter is 'The Valley of Tears' by Magnum. It expresses my feelings about and within this chapter far better than I ever could, and I had it on loop while writing it. It's beautiful; listen to it. And please forgive me. ~CS_

* * *

**Dark Dawn Revolution**

_by CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

**ADORATION PART 3**,

or The Pining Of A Fallen Angel For All That Was Once Beautiful

"This is the situation, as it stands."

The Duchess had long since abandoned her regal dress, and stood before them in full battle armour. Dantalion and Sitri sat at a small wooden table, one of the few bits of furniture that hadn't been broken in the fighting or salvaged to use as a barricade. A short rest had done them both good; had helped Dantalion to regain some of his strength and Sitri to begin to focus on the present. A longer rest would have been even better, but time was not on their side right now, and so their little council of war had been called.

"If he still lives, Lord Beelzebub is in hiding. We can expect no help from him." She turned to Sitri. "Your uncle has likewise disappeared. Whether he is still out there fighting, or if he has fled, or if he has fallen, we have no way of knowing. Survivors who are still loyal to Lord Lucifer – as far as we can tell – have come here. Those who have always served Dark Dawn, or who have since thrown their lot in with them, are gathering at the Doors. They guard them from all sides with savage ferocity, without care for their own lives, or the lives of their allies… and they're waiting for that bastard Samael. When he arrives, I am certain he will open the Doors with the intention of committing regicide. He may be there already.

"He must be stopped, whatever the cost. Many who side with Dark Dawn do so because it looks like they will win, or because they seek to further the bloodshed… or so I have to believe, for there to be any hope at all. If we can stop Samael from achieving his goals, we might be able to bring the Revolution under control before all is lost. Even if it seems hopeless, it is all that we can do for our king.

"I am going to take every soul who is still loyal in one final march against them. We'll swoop around from the side in a surprise attack and attempt to break through their defensive ring. They're not well-coordinated, and such a disciplined blow might serve to shatter their formation and carve us a path." She sighed, her eyes closing in acceptance. "Even so, the odds are stacked against us. Their numbers are overwhelming, they have nothing to lose from fighting us with everything they have, and all they have to do to win is stall us for long enough to let Samael carry out his plan. An outright victory is nigh on impossible, and still… still we must fight, because it's all we can do."

Astaroth had once been a wife, and she was a mother still, both to her daughter by blood and to her heir, Dantalion, by trust and sentiment. These things now gave her pause. She was also a queen and a warrior and the last surviving vassal who could stand up to the darkness and save her king. Right now, Hell did not need Astaroth the mother or Astaroth the wife, but Grand Duchess Astaroth, warlord and champion of Hell; as such, the pause was brief and quickly overruled.

"The strike of my army is bound to fail, so I intend to use it as a distraction. We will draw the attention of the bloodthirsty rabble, while an assassin – someone powerful enough to fight their way through the remnants of an army and still have the strength to take on Duke Samael at the end of it – will strike from the opposite side and break through to reach the Doors. It is almost certain suicide."

Eyes, haunted and dark and resolute, flicked to Dantalion. The confessions might as well be now; tomorrow would be too late. "My beloved Dantalion, you are like a son to me, but there is no one else I can entrust with this. I would go myself, but the deception would be obvious as soon as they saw I was not leading the army myself. You, however – everyone believes you have fled Hell. You can-"

Dantalion put his right fist to his shoulder and bowed as best he could while still sat at the table. He spoke with a sombre voice that Sitri had only heard him use a handful of times before, and even then only to William, when he was being deadly serious. "Stop. You do not need to ask. I will do everything I can not to let you down."

"Thank you." And the feeling in those two words! Too great to be described in this or any other language. There was nothing else that needed to be said.

"I'll come too."

That was Sitri. He had been expecting Dantalion to object, but the Nephilim just looked at him, and nodded once. In answer to Astaroth's surprise, Dantalion did speak, but his words weren't directed at her. "We're in this together now, aren't we? At the end of everything, I'd be glad to have you as a friend at my side."

"Don't be so full of yourself. We are _not _friends."

Dantalion only smiled, and Astaroth did too. What did it matter now, so close to their deaths, and not even with William to fight over any more? What was the point in denying that they felt the same about him now, with nothing to lose?

"I am grateful for your help, Viscount Sitri. Maybe two will succeed where one would fail." Sitri nodded, and said nothing more. Astaroth continued, "We will begin as soon as possible. We are almost ready to march. You two must wait until we have gone. Let them think that all we have left rides with me. Then carry out the plan."

A final pause, and then: "I wish you the best of luck. May fortune guide us, so that we may meet again."

* * *

And so Dantalion and Sitri found themselves waiting in the silent dark, long after all but the two of them had left the remnants of the Palace. There were no words spoken between them. Neither of them had anything to say.

Much was thought, though. Words and phrases and speeches and threats ran through Sitri's mind; Sitri, who still could not quite comprehend that he was here in Hell about to embark on a suicide mission with his rival and enemy because William, whom he had trusted, whom he had tried to help, had sent him here.

_I'm going to die. I'm going to die, without having achieved anything I reached for… without even saying goodbye._

He tried to turn his mind away, but to no avail.

_I'm going to die as Baalberith's puppet. I'm going to die unable to save Hell. I'm going to die scorned and banished by the one I only wanted to protect… I won't ever see him again. Solomon. The Elector. William. And all I have in my memory is his tear-stained face… I might as well just die. What does it matter, now? There can be no salvation for me, not any more._

And then another thought, this time stronger: _No! I won't die! William wanted me to fight, so I will. Even if he won't ever see me, or speak to me, I'm going to fight – I'm going to do this for him. At the very least, I can make him proud. I'll make him regret not choosing me when he had the chance._

At last, he understood how Dantalion had done it; why he wasn't wallowing in despair. And when he thought, when he allowed himself to fight, things became clear to him that hadn't been before.

"Dantalion," Sitri said then, out loud.

"Hmm?"

"Don't you think there's something missing?"

They couldn't see each other, not through this darkness, but they were connected by shared feeling, and each knew the solemnity and empathy in the other's voice like their own.

"What do you see?"

"Two things. First: where is Samael? He could have been there waiting at the Doors for days, but he hasn't been. Why?"

"Go on."

"Second: what on earth is he going to do when he gets there? People have tried every time to open the Doors while Lucifer sleeps, and no one has found a way. Is he just going to wait? It might be centuries before our king awakens; even Dark Dawn cannot hold the blood-crazed rabble they created in check for that long."

"You think he has a plan."

"I think I know what that plan is. He went to great lengths to obtain the Ring of Solomon. If anything is capable of forcing Lucifer to awaken, then surely it is that, the ring that symbolizes wisdom and forms the basis of Solomon's contract?"

Silence came, while the other contemplated. "Surely it's not possible. It's a sacred artefact bestowed upon Solomon by God… I can't believe that it will bend to Samael's will."

"It won't. Or, at least, it _didn't_, when he tried. Samael told me something, when he left me to die: _turns out the ring is useless without Solomon._"

"…Oh."

"And that answers the first question. Where is Samael? He's gone to fetch Solomon. He'll bring him to Hell and force him to open the Doors with the Ring of Wisdom."

"_William's in danger_! We have to go to him-"

"We can't, remember? And before you kill yourself trying, there's another thing; something we haven't even considered before now."

Another pause. Sitri thought he knew exactly what expression was twisting the Nephilim's face. "Go on, then."

"It is unquestionable that our king is the strongest of all of us. Since the creation of Hell he has been undefeated in battle, our supreme leader. Certainly, with the decline of Hell he will be weaker, as his power is tied to his domain, and that's not to mention the effect that being forcibly woken from his slumber might have – but still, he is the one chosen by God. Would you fancy your chances against our King? And Samael is no different to you or me. It begs the question that has been there since this began: why does Samael seek to awaken Lucifer to engage him in a battle he can't possibly win?"

"…Because he believes he _can_ win."

"How?" Sitri pressed.

"You _know_, don't you?"

"What the angel – the one that protects William – said to us that day. You probably don't even remember, do you? Who would benefit the most if Lucifer were to die?"

"Camio solved that one: Samael."

"But that's beside the point, don't you see? It's not what was said, but who said it. Why would an angel know of a pending revolution in Hell?"

"…Because angels are involved."

"One angel in particular. One who wants Lucifer dead, and would stand to gain immeasurably if he achieved that."

Understanding. "...Oh. I see now. The only time our Lord Lucifer has ever been defeated in battle - it was when his brother cast him out of Heaven. Samael's secret weapon… is the Archangel Michael."

"Crushing all resistance and forcing the Doors to materialize with the Dark Dawn Revolution, opening the doors and waking Lucifer with Solomon and his ring, and then killing him with Michael – that was Samael's plan all along. Maybe he hopes to replace Lucifer as king and rule over a brutal Hell independent of Solomon's control, though if he thinks he can control such an angel…"

Dantalion interrupted him, but not rudely. There was an expression in his voice that Sitri never thought he would hear from the Nephilim, least of all directed towards him: admiration. "Did you work all that out yourself?"

"I only used the clues I was given-"

"I'm impressed."

Surprised and flattered, Sitri was grateful that the darkness was there to hide his face. "But it doesn't change the fact that William is in danger."

Solemnity returned as the conversation returned to Dantalion's favourite – and most feared – topic. "Go to him."

"Eh?" That was the last thing Sitri had expected the Nephilim to say.

"You heard me. The plan will work with one."

"It should be you."

"After you were smart enough to figure all that out? No. Besides, of the two of us, I'm the only one who can take on Michael." It wasn't an insult, but the truth, and they both knew it. Dantalion had proven himself the archangel's equal in combat, after Sitri had been beaten.

But it didn't feel right. Still Sitri protested. "We could both go to William. That's more-"

"It's stupid, and you know it. If neither of us reach the Doors, then Astaroth's final charge will have been in vain."

"If they can't open them without William-"

"Samael and Dark Dawn will decimate what's left of Hell, and then they'll come after William once there is nothing left down there worth fighting for!"

"What if we both go to the Doors? If they need William there, they'll bring him to us unharmed."

"Why? Even if they for some reason kidnap him without hurting him, they'll just use him as a hostage against us once they're here. And that's assuming that it is William they want. What if it's only Solomon's soul that they need? William is not Solomon. You have to protect him while I distract Samael and Dark Dawn at the Doors."

Sitri found himself floundering for another excuse. "But… I can't go back. He commanded us never to return."

Impatience in Dantalion's tone. "I know you don't need me to explain this; you feel the same as I do! William is not Solomon. As Solomon, he ordered us to leave, and we cannot break that while we remain bound by the contract. But they are not the same. It's not what William wanted – what he really wanted."

"How-"

"Because he was crying. Because… because he's William. It is only Solomon that we must obey, and they are not the same. If it is to William that you return, and not Solomon, then it does not violate the contract, because it does not violate the wish in his heart… but you know this! Why do you keep making these excuses? I know that going back is what you want!"

"I-" How had the Nephilim come to understand him so well? He did want to see William again. He couldn't explain why, not to himself nor to the other, but he knew it to be true. He wanted to be the one to protect him. "Don't expect me to thank you." It came out haughtier than he had intended. Maybe that was a good thing.

"Do your job, and I'll do mine," came Dantalion's grim reply. "Go!"

There was still power in this place; still magic burning in Sitri's veins. As he drew it to him, beginning the invocation that would carry him back to his Elector, the only thought in his mind was not one of victory. This would probably be the last time he ever saw Dantalion. And while that didn't particularly bother him, the thought of their parting having taken place with him acting so vulnerable in front of the Nephilim did. At the very least, couldn't he go out with that proud façade he had worn for months around his rival?

So he spoke with an arrogance which for once in his life didn't come naturally to him. "I suppose I'd better go back. What would William do on his own? He'd be completely lost without my brilliance and grace. After all, he's so obviously in love with my beauty that there's nothing he can do without me-"

He had expected an angry retort; even if Dantalion was too serious at that moment to feel anger at Sitri's words, he might at least have pretended, for old times' sake. He hadn't expected Dantalion to laugh, dark and honest and startlingly bitter. "Haven't you got that the wrong way round?"

Sitri froze. The magic was around him now, splitting the worlds apart and roaring in his ears. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're in love with William, aren't you?"

But before Sitri could open his mouth to respond, he was falling once more through the darkness between words.

* * *

_Am I in love with William? Is _that_ what this is?_

_What does that even mean, to love someone?_

_Once, I thought I loved Solomon. I _did _love Solomon. We all did. Because Solomon was the one who drew us all together and gave us a purpose. He chose us, each and every one of his pillars, because we were special to him. It was just what he did. That we would love him in return went without saying. _

_When I was lost and alone, an exile from Heaven yet disillusioned with the freedom offered by Hell, Solomon was the one who found me. He alone knew my sorrow; he alone shared my pain. He also had been touched by God, only to find a true home not with Heaven or the angels, but in Hell. He understood me, and the pursuit of perfection, and the glory of freedom, and he offered to me a sanctuary. A respite. Sympathy. That he was my master and I was bound to him meant nothing; he was a kindred soul, and I worshipped him._

_And he was incredible. I had never seen such a beautiful man, cloaked in God's wisdom, powerful beyond measure, beloved and sacred and wonderful and glorious, there for all of us, with the knowledge of how to help those in need and the ability to lead us out of darkness and to his side, uniting the warring clans of Hell with his love. Just one man, a mere human at that, but to me, he was everything. Of course I loved him, how could I not?_

_But he didn't love me._

_No. Solomon was wise and he was crafty; could be all things to all people when he wanted to be; knew what we most needed and how to make us follow him. How he must have mocked us. How he must have loved our adoration. How much laughter did that beautiful smile hide? We all thought we were so special, each and every one of us. We considered ourselves so lucky, as we ran to do his bidding, as we fell over each other in our haste to be the one that he would call. We loved him, and it was exactly what he wanted. _

_When did I realize this? I knew it then, we all must have done; we just refused to believe it. Solomon was our everything. We were so desperate that we would willingly fall at his feet, bound in body by the contract and bound in soul by the illusion of love. No… even when I first met William, I wanted him to be Solomon. I wanted to feel the same way about him that I had that time; I wanted to give everything to him, just like before, and lose myself in that blissful ignorance, even if it was nothing but deception. But William wasn't Solomon. We had had to accept that, Dantalion, and Camio, and I, had been _forced_ to, because our beloved master wasn't coming back._

_And then… at some point that had slipped by unnoticed, that had changed, hadn't it? _William is not Solomon _– no longer a curse, but a mantra or a prayer, something to cling to and be glad of, words of relief and salvation which carried the unspoken hope that things would remain that way: that William would always be William, nothing more and nothing less. Why? Solomon was beautiful and wonderful and everything I had ever wanted… William, who was none of those things, who was rude and oblivious and who shunned us and who didn't know the first thing about grace and was not at all a wise king or a leader of armies or chosen by God but was merely William, honest and true…_

_Why was he the one I wanted to be beside? Why?_

…_Can it be, then, that Dantalion is right?_

_After Solomon, I had thought that the thing called "love" did not exist for demons, who had scorned the charity of God; and even less so for me, Puppet of Baalberith, a failure and a coward hidden behind a shadow of what was once beautiful…_

_After the lie that I had loved Solomon, because I had had to, and he had loved me, because it was ultimately convenient… I don't even know what it means to love another person._

_But…_

_If it's the decision to draw out the battle for Interim Ruler because the battlefield is where he is-_

_If it's the happiness that comes from nowhere, just because he looked at you-_

_If it's the willingness to give up everything just to be acknowledged by him-_

_If it's the certainty that dying will be alright, if it means that he stays safe-_

_If it's the strength to oppose the one who has always controlled you-_

_And the courage to move on from the one who never truly loved you-_

_And the faith to believe that maybe life has a purpose after all, because he has given it purpose-_

…

_Then, yes. I am in love with William._

* * *

_And I feel…_

Solomon's seal broke. The darkness vanished. No longer was he floating in that void between the worlds; there was solid ground underneath his feet, and a cool breeze whipping his long hair back, and a great golden sun shining brighter than it ever had before, and William.

_Liberated._

No sooner had Sitri's feet found purchase on the ground then he had gone again, springing through the air, taking the first step in his elegant dance of freedom. For the danger to himself, he didn't spare a second thought; William was the only one that mattered. The crowd of demons there hadn't been expecting him, nor he them, but while they acted in confusion and sought new orders and fell apart with panic, he was _free_, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

_Complete. _

The air came alive at his fingertips. There was power in him, more than there had ever been before, and it bathed the battlefield in a light that was the same brilliant blue as his radiant eyes. Just for a moment, he outshone the sun. Enemies fell around him and he did not stop to look; for the first time since this began he was confident in his own abilities. His entire body was the conduit for his power; as he danced through the crowd, light on his feet and turning with an elegance angels would have envied, that enchanting and deadly light was an extension of his motion, flowing and spiralling with the movements of his body and arcing with the soaring of his soul.

_Exhilarated._

His dance cut him a path through the mob of demons. They were far too slow to touch him; far too clumsy to compete with his elegance; far too brutish to begin to understand his beauty. Without conscious thought, his feet had carried him to William – to where he half-sat, half-lay on the ground, shocked and scared but otherwise unhurt.

"Sitri! But… how can you be here?"

"Don't worry. I'll protect you. I will always protect you… William."

_Meaningful._

He placed himself between William and the oncoming demons. He was perfectly calm. This was what he was supposed to do. This was how he could protect Hell; how he could protect William. They came at him again and again, and he repelled all their attacks. He knew with certainty that he would be able to. They would not touch William. No matter the rank of his foe, or their allegiance, or their history, if they tried to harm William, he would destroy them. He would never give up, he would never falter, he would never even pause until they were dust on the wind, because this was his purpose.

When the pattern of the battle shifted, he was the first to feel it. Then the demons all around him, their ranks thinned considerably, were falling back, making way, fleeing, vanishing. There was only one person left to try and take William from him now; one person who walked towards him, unafraid, even smiling. One person, with that eyepatch and those horns and that enormous black sword and that youthful smugness and that palpable aura of power and that arrogant slow clap as he approached; one person, who had started all of this, who had threatened William and who had tried to destroy everything: Samael.

"Very impressive," the demon duke called. "I would never have thought you had that in you." He stopped moving forward and took up his great sword in both hands. "Still, it won't be enough to protect your dear Elector. Shall we dance, Puppet of Baalberith, with his soul as the prize?"

Sitri stepped forwards too, blue light gathering around his slim hands. William grabbed his arm. "No! Don't, please! He's too-"

Sitri shook his hand off. He did not look at William; all of his being was focussed on this one man, who had sought to tear everything down. "He is not just the Elector, he is _William_. And I am Sitri, Viscount of Hell, and I will stop you!"

Because he could. He knew that now. He could do this – he could do anything, if it was for William. Running straight for his opponent, with the fragile spark of his life the only thing standing between this traitor demon and his own beloved William, he had never felt so alive.

_For William, and for myself, and for Hell, I will win!_

_Because I can do this. Because I am finally free. Because I am myself. Because I am here with William. Together, we can do anything. After everything, it's not Dantalion that's here, it's me. I won't be second to him any more. I will show the world that I am all that is needed to protect William. I am strong enough on my own, because I love-_

…

Except he wasn't, was he?

_It was never going to be me._

His body stopped in mid-leap.

_Not me, not Baalberith's puppet. All my freedom was only ever an illusion, for what are dreams without the power to make them reality?_

His hand froze, inches away from Samael's grinning face.

_Not me, for when was the last time I won a battle that mattered? When did I start fooling myself that I was strong enough to protect William on my own?_

That sacred blue light blazed once more around his hand, one last fatal wish, before it flickered and vanished.

_Not me. _

He almost smiled.

_It was never going to be me. And if I ever needed proof that I wasn't good enough to be the Interim Ruler of Hell – if I ever needed solid proof that I just wasn't good enough to be with William…_

…then that great black sword piercing straight through his chest was it.

* * *

"Sitri! SITRI!"

William's scream. So, he does care. Even if he always pretended otherwise… even if he doesn't feel the same… he does care.

Silence had frozen the awful scene in place; with William's shout, it was broken. Sitri staggered backwards one step and then another, until the red-dripping tip of that black sword reappeared with a squelch. The rhythmic sound of blood dripping, spilling, pouring out onto the dry ground was almost mesmerizing. Sitri swayed, then with a supreme gathering of will, he sprung backwards to William, raised both hands, summoned forth the last of his power, and enclosed the two of them in a barrier of shimmering blue. Only then did he fall.

William caught him. William, whose pristine Stradford School uniform was already ruined with fresh blood, whose hands were strong even though they were shaking, whose irises sparkled like emeralds behind crystal tears. He was so much more beautiful than Solomon had ever been – how had Sitri not noticed before now? Now, when there was no time left to appreciate it? No time at all… the last of his power had deadened the pain and was holding him together, but it wouldn't last, not for the eternity that he wanted to spend in this moment, or for the eternity he wanted to spend hating himself for it.

"No," William was whispering. His stoic mask had been torn away as he knelt with Sitri in his arms. "No, no, Sitri!"

Words that were little more than a breath, but words which William heard nonetheless. "I guess… I guess I wasn't strong enough, after all…"

"No, Sitri, please! You can't die! You can't!"

He couldn't stand seeing William so upset, so he tried to smile. "I'm sorry, William. I was reckless… I thought… if only I had more power…"

"No… no… this is my fault! It's all because of me! Sitri! No!"

It was getting harder to concentrate on his words, and harder still to form a reply. A distant crash came from the other side of the barrier, which wavered but held. Sitri's mouth opened, but no words came out. William hadn't noticed; probably couldn't see anything through the tears filling his beautiful eyes. He kept talking. "Is there anything I can do? Please. Please, tell me. Isn't there some way I can help?"

The demon shook his head slowly, inevitably. "No!" William yelled. "I refuse to believe that! There has to be something I can do! I didn't put up with all this… being Solomon, being the Elector, having you demons turn everything inside out and ruin my peaceful life – I didn't put up with all of this just to have you die in my arms!"

His voice, which had become a screech of pain, died suddenly and was reborn as a whisper. A whisper – wondrous, incredulous, not even daring to believe itself. "Sitri… what if – what if I elected you?"

For Sitri, everything stopped. There was utter silence. No sound came from the other side of his barrier, not from William, not even from his own body, which seemed to have forgotten how important each heartbeat was to him right now.

William misunderstood his silence. "Because I can, I know I can. I won't deny it any more – not if it means I can save you. I know that if I choose you, you'll be able to use Lucifer's power – I don't know how I know this, I just do! So if I-"

_Once, I loved Solomon, because that was what he did. He drew us to him, bound us, and he expected us to love him – no, he demanded it. And we all loved him without question, even if we knew that he would never love us back._

"No."

William flinched as if he had been struck. "I don't understand. I can save you-"

_But you, William?_

_You break my heart, and you don't even know it._

"No," Sitri repeated. William raised his hand; with the strength of madness, Sitri seized his wrist. "No. You can't. It was never going to be me."

_You are not Solomon. No, you are nothing like him, and that is the greatest compliment I can give you._

"Sitri-!"

_I think that's why the one that I love, truly and freely, is you._

"No. It was always going to be Dantalion, wasn't it?" William flinched again and Sitri smiled. "It's okay. He is the only one who deserves to be the Interim Ruler… he is the only one who can save Hell now. He's the only one who is strong enough… the only one who can protect you. I'll be happy… just knowing that you're alive with him."

"Sitri-"

"It's okay, William." He pushed the other's hands away and began to rise to his feet. "It's okay. He's waiting for you."

"No! I won't!" He started forward, but stopped. Sitri's wide eyes shone with the light of the far-distant stars; on his face was the most beautiful, most incredibly sad smile William had ever seen. Still he protested: "This is more important than that! I won't let you die! I won't-"

Sitri was still smiling when he collapsed the barrier and drew the last of its power back into himself. The dividing wall gone, Samael howled and leapt towards them, but even this close to death, Sitri was faster. With a single thought, he tore the fabric of the worlds, opened a dark crackling portal behind William, and pushed him towards it.

William tried to resist, but Sitri's was the strength of desperation. He fell backwards, still reaching for him when the darkness whisked him away, and then there was nothing but the empty void and the roar of another world's wind and the memory of Sitri's smile and their unspoken final farewell.


	9. Dantalion - ABDICATION PART 1

_**A/N: **It begins. ~CS_

* * *

**Dark Dawn Revolution**

_by CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

**ABDICATION PART 1**,

or The Salvation Of A King At The End Of Everything

_I'm the only one left._

That thought rose from nowhere and became everything. It came like a tsunami, blotting out pain and focus and danger and resilience just in its shadow, and sweeping him up beyond the reach of the mortal hands that sought him out; it was a hurricane, throwing every other thought out of his mind as if they didn't matter and replacing them with its howl, over and over again: _I'm the only one left._

His enemies carried on as if they hadn't heard it; as if they couldn't understand how important those words were; as if they didn't know what it meant that the wind was roaring and the earth was screaming and the blood was singing in his veins. Whether they knew it or not didn't matter, for they paid it was much attention as they did the long line of corpses stretching out as far as the eye could see behind him, and just kept coming. Through a world that had slowed down almost to a standstill in its overwhelming insignificance, through eyes wide with incredulity at how they still thought there were things to be done here that were important enough to warrant moving for, he watched them charge towards him. If they were foolish enough to come within his reach then he killed them, but he did not think about it, for his thinking mind remained in the stranglehold of that one thought.

_One is dead, and the other is broken and will soon join him, if he hasn't already. Now, there is only me._

From somewhere far distant there came the guilty feeling that he ought to be sad, even though he was not. There would be time for sorrow when this was over – certainly there would be an eternity of mourning when the time came, for they would need that long just to read out the names of the dead, and more soil than there was on all of Earth to bury them – but this was not over, not yet. The dead could wait a little longer, for dealing with the living was the more pressing matter, and with one man who still lived in particular-

And besides, it was difficult to be sad when he was filled with such a rush of triumph. This was what he had been fighting for all along, wasn't it? And everything he had gone through, everything he had sacrificed and lost and embraced, had led him here, to this point where he was the only one left.

When he threw himself back into the fray, it was with greater vigour than before. Fire was at his fingertips and at his feet; it circled in the air with his elation, pouring his emotion into a spiralling crown of gold and crimson, blinding those who dared to look and burning those who could not help but touch. He sprang from one to another, their bodies as his springboards, soaring through the air like a bright-blazing arrow towards his destination. Nothing could stop him now; if they tried they would simply fail. He was protected by the certainty that the first of his two battles, fought with words and devotion and patience over many long weeks, was over, and he was the victor; after that success, which was by far the most important of the two to him, why would he think for a moment that he wouldn't be able to reach the Doors?

This was what he was meant for. It was all that he had ever wanted. At the moment of his victory, how could he be anything but confident; anything but jubilant; anything but glorious? He was alive and his heart soared with satisfaction. And it was fitting, too, that it would be him. He had been the first, drawn by Solomon to the world of humans when his master was still barely more than a boy, and he had been the last thing that that great man's eyes had seen, the only one entrusted with the duty to save Solomon from himself. Again, he had been the first drawn by William, the first to return to his side and know what it meant; it had come to pass that he was also the last one standing with him, and wasn't that right? So the circle began, and so it shall end. It was perfect.

Even when the sky above him opened; even when there was a falling William where before there had only been empty air, and Dantalion had to nimbly dance to one side in order to catch him in his arms, he didn't question it for a moment. It was _right_ that William would be here. Of course he was here, it went without saying. Now that that battle had been won, it was time-

Only then did the first sense of imperfection creep into his world. William was shaking in his arms – no, more than that, William was fighting him, struggling to be free, and he knew with certainty that, this time, it wasn't because the action was hurting his pride. Bitterly, he let himself slow down; let himself fall back out of that world where everything was good because he had won, and return to that horrible reality in which the William in his arms wasn't electing him as the final victor but was crying instead.

He said, "William…" and then found he couldn't say any more. He was angry, yes, but the anger he felt had refused to come into his voice, and even now it was draining away in the same whirlpool of feeling that had grabbed his heart and twisted. So he simply set him down on the ground and held him upright when he swayed. The enemies who had survived up to this point had done so only because they were cautious; though they were forming a wary ring around the two, Dantalion knew they would hold back for a little while, and focussed on William.

"…have to help Sitri!" he was saying. "Dantalion, you have to! He's going to die, he's going to-!"

"I can't," Dantalion spoke softly.

"You can, I know you can! If it were you, he would help – I won't stand here and let him – I can't do it! I can't let another friend die-"

Dantalion caught William's hand. The way William was right now, he couldn't elect anyone – even if he had wanted to. He looked into those green eyes, wide with desperation and scarred with what he had seen and terrified that it would keep happening over and over and over – and he understood, because William didn't. He understood even though he hated it; he had been around William far too long _not_ to understand. The battle still ongoing was the more important one; that was why Sitri had surrendered his claim to the first, and sent William here in order to protect him. They weren't finished yet. Crying for the dead was too human a sentiment.

"William," he said, and this time his voice came out steady, as he had intended it to. "We have to go. We have a job to do."

"But-"

"He sent you here so you could be safe. You do understand that, don't you, William? Don't let that mean nothing."

William snapped his arm out of Dantalion's grasp. With a glare he turned away and walked two defiant steps forward. Some part of him saw the closed ring of demons and stopped him from going further, even though his face was turned towards the hellish red sky. Dantalion watched without saying a word, his compassion overruling his urgency to move on for the moment, as the other seemed to wipe away his tears.

For a long time after, William did not move, his face still upturned as if it was a different world that he was seeing. "I know," was all he said.

The demons moved restlessly; soon they would strike. Dantalion repeated, "We have to go now. If we don't, everything that has happened up to now will have been meaningless."

"I know. I've made my decision." He turned around, slow and regretful. "I'll go with you, Dantalion. No matter what happens."

Now he turned his head away slightly, eyes fixed resolutely on the ground, and his voice became defensive and defiant and more than a little embarrassed, but it was honest. Only a few days earlier he would never have given voice to something like this; a few weeks earlier he would have buried even the thought of it deeply. But things had changed, and he continued, "This is my choice. I'll go with you. Even if it means I'll never go back to Stradford School, even if it means I'll never go back home, I'll choose to go with you."

Dantalion's eyes widened. Those should have been his words, he knew… though it was no more the time for that than it was for them to sing for the unlamented dead. He held out his hand, slender and strong with long nails sharpened to dangerous points – no need now to pretend he was human, after all. The wind blew back his ragged red cloak, stained with blood which wasn't his own. After a slight hesitation, William placed his hand on top of the demon's; those elegant fingers curled around his own. "Let's go," Dantalion smiled.

And they ran. They ran as if their feet were springs, Dantalion leading the way, half-guiding and half-pulling William along. Though the horde of demons around them seemed endless, few of them dared to challenge Dantalion now. For those who did, he did not waste time with theatrics when he had William to protect, and they found themselves blasted out of his way quickly and efficiently.

At last they came to the Doors, the human – he in the blood-stained school uniform, short of breath and with eyes that glimmered with tears – and the demon, he who had become the last standing defender of Hell; who refused to show any sign of weakness even though he had been fighting long and hard that day already. They tore through the desecrated shrine and only stopped when they were stood, exhausted, below those doors which stood upright in the middle of nothing. The curses wrought by Dark Dawn had weakened their protective enchantments and forced them finally to materialize in this place, but they had not been enough to unlock them. For that, they needed the Elector. It did not occur to Dantalion that bringing William here was a dangerous move because it did not cross his mind that he would not be enough to protect him, when the time came.

William stared up at them with growing familiarity. He didn't think it was at all strange that the Doors were hanging in thin air. After all, the part of him that was Solomon knew them very well. "What now?"

Though the question had been posed to Dantalion, it was someone else that answered. "Now you open the doors for us, Elector."

William knew the speaker at once. He did not have a name to put to that person strolling towards them, though, if he had cared for it, his usual observant skills would have led him to identify the traitor Samael in no time at all. But he did not care for the stranger's name – no, this was the demon who was responsible indirectly for Camio's death, and directly for Sitri's, and that was all he needed to know. There were many things that he wanted to say – to declare that he would never help them get what they want, or to promise him that he would pay for what he did to his friends, amongst others – but in that instant, they all went out of his head. All his hatred and his grief and his rage was channelled into one shrieked command: "Dantalion!"

The demon didn't need telling twice. He passed William as a blur of crimson, fire blossoming from his fingertips as he launched himself at Samael. The former Duke of Hell smirked and drew from thin air that enormous black sword. Dantalion did not pause. He carried with him his own anger for how his world and his people had been treated, and for the friends and comrades he had lost, but more than that, he was the embodiment of all of William's raw human emotion, and it was strong enough to fill his limbs with fire. They were connected; had been since Dantalion had first appeared in William's basement. He felt William's frustration that he was unable to avenge his friends himself, took it, and burned twice as brightly with it; dealt every blow with their combined strength.

Faced with a barrage of fire and light, Samael immediately went on the defensive. His enormous blade smashed waves of scorching heat apart as if they were mere breaths of wind, and he wielded it as if it weighed next to nothing. He likely had more tricks up his sleeve, too. Dantalion did not push too far or throw himself around too aggressively. Others might have thought him reckless, but when he was the only one left to stand between William and Samael, he could be surprisingly level-headed. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Samael fight, and could only guess at what tactics he might employ. After all, one did not become Chief Steward of the demon realm without first proving oneself in battle. Though Dantalion was confident in his abilities, he had had to carve a path through a hostile demon army just to reach this place, and he knew Samael had no such handicap. He could not afford to take unnecessary risks until he knew his opponent. He could not lose here, not after William had placed his faith in him.

So Dantalion was unusually cautious, and though that caution may have robbed him of his chance to end the fight before it had even begun, it probably also saved his life. Certainly, the wary distance he placed between himself and his opponent gave him the extra split-second he needed to dodge when that black blade became an edge of black light sweeping towards him beyond the reach of the physical weapon, and after he escaped that potentially-fatal strike, he began to hang back even more.

Samael was matching him blow for blow. Whether fiery or physical, none of his attacks could break through the defence offered by that black blade, which seemed to negate any magic he threw at it and still have plenty of its own left to counter-attack with. Where had he been hiding that artefact all these years? He might as well have asked where he had been hiding his disloyalty, or his plans to overthrow the king. Wasn't that what demons had done best, back in the days before order had come from chaos and civil war had evolved into unity?

Whether or not Samael truly believed he would be able to gain the throne after Lucifer fell didn't matter. What he was really fighting for was the return of those old days. Not just a Hell free from Solomon's control, but also a Hell free from order; from any semblance of structure and lawfulness. Who would be the true winner in such a situation? Those demons who loved the slaughter above all else, he supposed. When their old world was destroyed, they would undoubtedly turn their ravenous gaze upon the human world, and then, if any still lived, to unknown worlds beyond, whereupon they would continue to destroy until the only thing left to eat would be themselves… and he was sure they would consume themselves, and gladly. Without hierarchy, without laws, without a king to hold it in check and channel its hatred towards their enemies, Hell would inevitably self-destruct.

Dantalion fought because he was loyal to the old ways, and to his king, and because he sought the continued existence of his home. There was more than that, though – he was loyal to William. He didn't even need to think about it. Unlike Sitri, he needed no epiphany to know it; unlike Camio, he needed no further courage to admit it. There was no conscious thought, no overwhelming desire – it just _was_, and he didn't question it for a second. While William lived, he would protect him, and if staying by his side also meant saving Hell, then so much the better. That was why he was fighting. His resolve would never break while he had that goal in mind, even in the face of such a weapon as the one his opponent held.

He danced backwards to avoid another black shockwave that tore up the air where he had been standing; unhesitating, he had raised one burning hand and called down a pillar of fire towards his opponent from the unhealthy red sky before his feet were even back on solid ground. In the time it took for Samael to alter his momentum and cleave that insubstantial object in two, Dantalion had already crossed the distance between them and sprung towards the other's unprotected back. His snarl revealed small inhuman fangs; his claw-like hands, still gleaming with unholy fire, reached for the other's neck. Samael's pivot in response was almost lazy. As if the motion was completely natural, he turned with exceptional speed and brought the great blade crashing down in a two-handed blow. Fortunately for Dantalion, the angle was wrong – though it sliced through his fiery shield as if it was nothing more than air, it was the flat of the blade that made contact, knocking Dantalion back rather than bisecting him.

Advantage found, Samael sprung into motion, racing not for Dantalion but for the only person he was interested in: William. Though he had no means of defending himself, William was unafraid. His faith in Dantalion, for reasons he couldn't – or wouldn't – put his finger on, was absolute. Stood with his back against the doors he would refuse to open, the gaze he shot to Samael was scornful and alight with disdain.

He made it halfway to the doors before Dantalion caught him. This time, his hands found purchase – one looped around the demon duke's neck and the other seized one of his horns. Samael was jerked off-balance and thrown backwards. Although he landed lightly, and had kept hold of his sword with customary agility, Dantalion was once more between him and his target. He would not let him touch William.

In the pause that followed, he felt a shift in the rhythm of their battle. Nothing changed that he could see, but he had always trusted his instincts. He looked, but not with his eyes. Intentionally letting his acute concentration slip for just a second, rather than seeing and not noticing, he didn't see and instinctively understood what was wrong. Samael was still looking at him and, over his shoulder, at William – but his concentration was elsewhere. It was directed… above and beyond him, to where he knew the Doors were. And he knew there was someone else, someone he hadn't heard approach and whose presence he couldn't, even now, detect.

Dantalion remembered something too. It was something Sitri had worked out. Once he wouldn't have paid the slightest bit of attention to what that stuck-up puppet of Baalberith had said, but then he had come to respect him, and possibly even to count him as a friend… and when he had laid down his arguments for Heaven's involvement, he hadn't doubted him for a second. It was now that he remembered, and that recollection was what saved his life this time around. He should have worked it out for himself – was it not also the answer to his earlier question, for who would benefit more from Hell's decline into anarchy than the angels? – but there was very little time for conscious thought in the heat of battle, and it had never been his strong point anyway. All he knew was an instantaneous flash of understanding that pulled everything together: the newcomer, perched on top of the doors, preparing at this very moment to strike Dantalion's unprotected back, was the Archangel Michael.

Had he have tried to block the blow with a magical shield, or thought he was faster and attempted a counter-strike before the other's attack could reach him, he would have succumbed to Michael's holy powers then and there; he could not effectively negate an angel's might, nor could he draw faster than Heaven's champion. But he knew this without consciously thinking it, so he pulled all of his remaining energy into moving, and shot forward.

Michael crashed to the ground where he had been only a moment before. Dantalion wheeled around to see him rising, unharmed, from a smouldering crater, with his white wings outstretched and a sadistic grin extending to his fiery eyes.

"So we meet again, Solomon, Dantalion!"

Dantalion's eyes flicked past him dismissively, and his response was addressed to Samael. "Collaborating with angels – are there no depths to which you will not sink, you traitor?"

The demon, with his black blade resting casually across his shoulders, stepped up next to the mad archangel. "Still you cling to outdated concepts," was his equally laid-back response. "Why should we not work together, when we share a common goal? We both seek to rid this land of this foolish prince of demons, after all."

At this, Michael's eyes gleamed a little brighter. The response, however, to everyone's surprise, came from William. It was not in his nature to enjoy sitting passively on the sidelines, after all. "How stupid are you?" he demanded of Samael. Coming from a human, it should have seemed pathetic, but William had his own branch of political charisma, and his voice was scathing enough to cause Samael to growl indignantly. "He wants nothing more than to see Hell in ruins! Obviously he wouldn't lower himself to helping demons unless he knew it would result in the elimination of every single one of you-"

He was right, of course. With Hell in such turmoil, it would be easy for Heaven's army to sweep in for the final devastating strike, regardless of what supernatural unifying powers Samael might have believed himself to possess. If it was obvious to a human, then Samael must have known it too… or did he just not care? While Dantalion was pondering, Michael's laugh cut off William's speech.

"How awfully rude of you, to accuse me, an archangel, like that!" he purred. "Though I shouldn't have expected more from a human who turned his back on the God who bestowed such generous gifts upon him, and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with _demons_…" To Michael, even the word was foul.

"I'm not Solomon," came William's resolute response. "And I don't care about him. I've made my own choice." Dantalion felt the other's eyes upon him and resisted the urge to turn around, however much he wanted to.

"And very admirable it is indeed!" Michael crowed, striding towards William. Dantalion tensed, stepping a little closer, but was reluctant to engage the archangel unless he had to. He was holding up well so far, he knew, but he wasn't so confident to think that he could take on both his opponents at once after what he had been through… and the anger he felt at himself for not immediately leaping to William's defence was almost enough to break his paralysis, yet he somehow suppressed the urge.

William's back was to the still-closed doors, though he didn't make any move to run, even when the angel's face was only inches from his own. "You've made your decision to stand by your demon buddies, and that's laudable. I'm sure you're proud of yourself. Still… I wonder how many of them are happy that you chose to stay? Your fight might have been won already if Dantalion had not been needed to protect you… and if your pathetic candidates had been leading the fight against the revolution from the start rather than clinging to you, it might never have come to this, don't you think?"

"You-!" Dantalion started forwards angrily, but Michael only laughed again.

He continued airily, "Oh, I'm sure Dantalion will adore you until the end… but what about the others? Take the one I killed, for example. What was his name again? Oh, Camio, that was it. He died with your name on his lips, and how glad do you think he was then? Were it not for you, he would never have felt the need to prove himself. He wouldn't have gone to defend the doors alone. He wouldn't have been weakened from his solo match with that girl, and he might even have got away from me. It was your fault that he died, and he knew it. He went to his death despising you-"

"Liar!" Dantalion bellowed. William's grief and his own anger melded and rose up inside him; he wouldn't have been able to stop himself now even if he had wanted to. All further insults were lost as he flung himself at the angel. The two went down in a flurry of white feathers and searing flames.

In the chaos of the melee, it was difficult to tell who had the advantage. Both sides screamed with pain and ecstasy; lightning as black as the void and glorious golden flames surrounded the combatants in a swirling vortex of energy. Somewhere, somehow, Michael's bare foot made contact with Dantalion's chest with enough force to throw him off into the air, breaking them apart. Neither side – not the enraged demon nor the mocking angel – were content with the separation, and an orb of black energy gathered around Michael's right fist as he sprung back towards Dantalion. This initiated a more mobile but no less vicious brawl. The two twisted and span their way across the desecrated grounds, a dance of fire and devastation.

Once before, Dantalion had proven himself Michael's equal in battle. Even now, the terrain was unfavourable to the angel, and it was possible that their proximity to the Doors was negating any advantage Michael may have gained from the wounds Dantalion had already sustained fighting Samael and his roving army. Fighting for William, Dantalion might have been able to triumph over Heaven's strongest warrior in a fair fight.

Only, demons didn't play fair. And as a particularly savage burst of flames knocked Michael out of the sky and Dantalion closed in for his victory, Samael stepped in out of nowhere with that great sword of his and cut a bloody gash in his side. Eyes widening with surprise, Dantalion took another step forwards, raising a hand out to the angel's fallen body as if he was still trying to strike the final blow. With a grunt, Samael kicked him in the wound he just made. His heel came away dripping with blood. Dantalion's strength broke and he screamed in agony; William screamed with him, sharing his warrior's pain.

The Grand Duke of Hell would have fallen to the ground, but Michael was not done with him yet. With an easy flick of his white hair, he raised his right hand and summoned from the air silver bands of sacred energy. Two enclosed Dantalion's wrists and two wrapped around his ankles, pinning his arms and legs in place, with his entire body suspended above the ground. Another locked around his neck. The holy band burned against his skin, and he couldn't help but cry out again, convulsing with the pain.

Slowly, Michael stood up. A cruel smirk crossed his face as he stared into the beaten eyes of his opponent, trapped in place in mid-air as if bound to an invisible wall. "And now it's your turn, William who is Solomon," he grinned.

"No-" Dantalion tried, but the mad angel ignored him.

Michael skipped over to William. "Just so you're aware, your demon friend can't use his powers while he's bound by God's Light," he explained happily. "Unless I let him go, he'll probably bleed to death in about five minutes… so if I were you, I'd listen very carefully to what you need to do."

William was shaking, but it was more likely from anger than fear. Still, when he spoke, his voice came out calm and controlled. "Go on, then."

From his pocket Michael pulled out a small silver object that William recognized immediately. "It's quite simple, really. You're going to put on Solomon's old Ring of Wisdom and command the doors to open. Once you've done that for me, I'll let Dantalion go. He might even survive. After all, I don't give a damn if you two die… you're not nearly interesting enough for me. So, won't you do that for me, William Twining?"

William didn't like the idea of helping this malicious angel one bit, but he wanted to see Dantalion suffer even less. He didn't even need to think about it. At once he held out his right hand, and Michael dropped the gleaming ring into his palm. Under Hell's tormented red sky, the silver band seemed to take on a blood-like sheen.

As he was about to put on the ring, Dantalion's strangled yell stopped him. "No! Don't you dare give him what he wants!"

"Dantalion," William softly stated, with a sorrowful smile.

"Please, William! I don't care what happens to me! Just don't put on the ring – don't open the doors – please!"

"I'm sorry, Dantalion," he whispered. "But don't be so hypocritical. If I were the one dying… I know you would do anything to save me. How can I possibly stand here and watch you suffer, because of me?"

"William…" The pain had brought the demon almost to tears.

"I am sorry," William said one final time, and he slipped on the ring.

Everyone's attention was fixed on him, waiting with anticipation or dread. William's eyes were closed. His face was calm – almost at peace, even. A warm breeze rippled through his soft hair. Dantalion could only watch helplessly, terrified for the moment William opened his eyes again; knowing that when he did so it would no longer be William that he saw within them, but the ghost of the master he had only recently begun hoping he would never see again.

When William changed, even Samael and Michael could tell; to Dantalion, Solomon was as different from William as day was from night. From the little things – the way he held himself, or his unconscious mannerisms, or even the way his golden hair naturally hung – to the important ones – his confidence, his aura of power, that look of detached affection that came into his emerald eyes as he gazed upon Dantalion – every single distinction broke Dantalion's heart anew. It was no longer William Twining who stood there, but Solomon the Wise, and they all knew it.

Yet it was not completely Solomon. It couldn't have been, not in the way he swung obediently round to the doors, or in the unresisting manner in which he raised his right hand, on which the ring was shining brightly. William was still fighting for Dantalion, somehow. Even the natural command in Solomon's voice wasn't enough to completely drown out their shared sadness, nor his strength enough to keep the tremor of William's tears out of his words.

"By my name and by my wisdom, I command thee," Solomon intoned. The ring blazed brighter. Michael's maddening laughter increased in pitch. Even the ground beneath their feet began to shake. "O great Doors of Lucifer, I-"

"Enough of this!"

The interruption came so abruptly that all of them, including Solomon himself, glanced around to see who had dared to shatter the powerful moment.

"William Twining! Remember who you are, and stop this madness immediately!"

A confused silence fell, and it was a long time before it was broken by a voice that was small and lost and utterly bewildered, and completely William. "Kevin?"

* * *

For a long time, there was only emptiness. In his ears there was nothing but silence; before his eyes lay only darkness. It might have existed for a minute, or it might have been forever. In the emptiness, they were, after all, one and the same.

Then the footsteps began. He felt them before he could hear them. The void trembled with each one. Only as they grew in intensity did he become able to hear them too, and the familiar sound of worn boots on firm earth confirmed that the vibrations belonged to disembodied footsteps.

Once the void's bluff of absoluteness had been called, his other senses began to awaken. There was a floating light in the darkness, not bright enough to even be a candle flame, but the same golden-red. There was also the smell of smoke – cigar smoke. He knew it well. It brought back memories of his uncle's throne room.

_Is this what death holds for me? Ghost sounds, will-o'-the-wisps, and cigars?_

"This is one awful mess you've got yourself into, my beautiful Sitri."

The footsteps had stopped. Now that the ground was still, he slowly grew more aware of it as a physical entity separate from the void. It hurt where it pushed against him. Gravity was finally taking its revenge for all the times he had disobeyed its laws. Unlike the others, that thought was familiar and warm. In another world, he might have smiled.

"Still, I suppose I must admire your resilience. I would never have thought you had it in you… though it won't matter, if you can't get help."

He was far beyond the point of it mattering now. Even the thought that the speaker had come to gloat could evoke little feeling in him.

Pain brought sudden vividness to the void. For a moment, the silhouettes of trees and clouds and a single shadowy figure bent over him flashed out of the purple darkness, and then they were gone. The other had placed his hand upon him. Wherever he was touching, it hurt like hell. He vaguely recalled sustaining an injury that had cast him into the darkness, and was grateful when the memory slipped back beyond the reach of his conscious mind. But-

Things were growing brighter. The world was becoming closer and closer. In lieu of any physical movement, his mind reached out in panic and seemed to touch the thoughts of the other. Understanding came. He couldn't heal that fatal wound, not as such, but the newcomer had energy and power where he only had that void, and if he could somehow transfer it to the other, perhaps his body could regenerate itself if it still had the will to survive… but why?

There was another whisper in the darkness, and thankfully, it asked that very question. "Why?"

There was no answer. The world was growing more and more substantial. He was beginning to think that maybe he had a body, and maybe the second voice was his. He didn't want to go back. He employed that newly-discovered voice to convey his panic; to convince the other to let him go back to that void where everything was peaceful.

"I gave it up," he tried to say, and it came out desperately mocking. "I refused. I could have been king, and I turned it down… how do you like that, Uncle?"

There was a pause. "It doesn't matter now."

"But…" The pain was rising now, the pain of having a body and having fears and dreams and memories. "But why?"

"I suppose there are more important things."

"Like… what?" Words were difficult to come by now.

The other didn't reply, but on his face, drifting in and out of focus, there was a smile. It was small and it was grim, but for possibly the first time in all the centuries they had known each other, it was honest. Then the agony made further thought impossible. He was once more in his body, once more a living, breathing entity having to fight for survival. Eternal peace had been snatched away from him by a cruel tormentor.

Only later would he come to think of that man as his saviour. Later there would be understanding, and gratitude, and maybe even reconciliation. At that moment, though, convulsing and writhing and screaming like a newborn child, Sitri was dragged back from the edge of death against his will.

* * *

**_A/N: _**_Wow, I suck at writing battle scenes. I just get so bored of doing it ^^' Anyway. Yes. Sitri. I was never going to kill him. There are all sorts of literary and meaningful reasons as to why he wasn't going to die, but I suppose the simplest explanation is that I'm mean, but I'm not _that _mean ;) Not to mention I like him far too much. Thanks for reading this far - only two more parts to go! :D ~CS_


	10. Dantalion - ABDICATION PART 2

_**A/N: **Penultimate chapter! :D Notes are at the end because of spoilers. They're especially wordy this chapter so, as ever, feel free to skip them once you've got through the actual text :P Now go go go! :D ~CS_

* * *

**Dark Dawn Revolution**

_by CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

**ABDICATION PART 2**,

or The Salvation Of A King At The End Of Everything

All four combatants – human, angel, both demons – were united in their surprise. William turned from the Doors and let his right hand fall to his side. "Kevin?" he demanded again, with mounting incredulity as it became less and less likely that the white-clad figure running towards them was a trick of his mind. "But… wait… what?"

The man who William knew as Kevin and who the demons knew as Uriel shouted as he ran across the parched ground, and his voice was as strong as ever. "William! Whatever you do, don't open those doors! The Young Master I know would never give in to anyone!"

Michael was perhaps even more taken aback than William was. "How are you not dead?"

Slowing to a stop between the Archangel and his targets, Uriel flung out his right arm, in which he grasped a silver cross. It was the one which had always hung around his neck when he had lived on the Stradford School campus… and, William recalled with startling clarity, it was the same one which had always been looped around one of the bedposts in Kevin's room, back when he had been the Twining family's house steward. Before the accident which had claimed his parents' lives, William had liked to sit on that bed as evening fell and listen, because Kevin told the best stories. He would act them out too, playing the part of the noble hero and the fair maiden and the terrifying dragon one after the other, because it made young William laugh. After the accident, William had lost his interest in those fantastical tales. He did not know why he was suddenly reminded of those days, and it made him want to smile with fondness and cry at the same time.

Uriel's head was bowed, but for those he faced, it was clear that determination sparkled in his eyes. "I prayed," he said simply. "I prayed that I might be given a second chance on this earth, so that I could beg for forgiveness from the one I have wronged before moving beyond this life. And I was granted a miracle."

"Forgiveness?" Michael sneered, shock amplifying his outrage until it was something comical. "Do you really think that after what you did, I would-"

"Not from you," Uriel interrupted sadly. "Nor from God, for there will be an eternity for that later, but…"

The beautiful Archangel's face twisted into a snarl. "Forever will not be long enough for you to repent for all your sins! I should have stayed around and ensured you were dead, you disrespectful traitor!" He flung a bolt of black energy at the other.

"Kevin!" William yelled, but there was no need; Uriel was nimbler than he looked. He darted to the side and the attack dissipated harmlessly against those great otherworldly doors. Still, now that he was close to them, they could see how unsteady he was on his feet, and how his face was clenched tightly against the pain that came with motion. How grave were the wounds hidden beneath that immaculate white suit?

Yet it was no time for Michael and Samael to gloat over the state of their new opponent, for he had other things in mind than just dodging. A quick burst of speed brought him directly in front of Dantalion. While the bound demon only stared down at him, dazed, Uriel touched his silver cross to the ethereal chain around Dantalion's neck. All the bonds holding the demon shattered at once, throwing both of them back with the force of an explosion.

Michael cried out, falling to his knees. William also let out a shout, running to Dantalion's side. The demon tried to stand and couldn't; William did his best to support him into a half-lying, half-sitting posture. His breathing was ragged. The skin around his neck and wrists was blistered, as if burnt. His clothes were soaked in blood, so much so that he couldn't possibly have had much more left to lose. Despite his pain, his red eyes softened when he saw William, and he whispered, "I'm sorry, I couldn't-"

William interrupted, pointedly but not harshly: "What nonsense are you going on about now?" Dantalion laughed a little at that, even though it brought a bubble of blood to his lips.

Fortunately for them, Uriel's appearance had earned them a slight reprieve. Michael seemed to have forgotten about them completely, instead hurling insults and the occasional bolt of energy at Uriel, who had managed to keep out of the way so far. Samael could not interfere, nor skate round the combatants to get at William and Dantalion, for fear of being struck by Michael's holy power himself. And now that the immediate threat was over – Dantalion would live a little longer, at least – William turned his attention back to the one he called Kevin, his confusion returning.

"Kevin?" he asked again, not really expecting any response. But Uriel did turn to look at William, as he always would, and Michael seized his chance.

With a howl of "Traitorous fool!", the Archangel drew holy light to his fist and flung it towards William. Dantalion raised a hand half-heartedly, as if to intercept it, but Uriel got there first. He threw himself bodily between them, holding out the silver cross towards Michael. The energy hit a shimmering barrier inches from Uriel's hand and reflected back. Though the angel's power was weak, his faith was strong, and his desire to protect William was stronger; Michael, caught unprepared, was struck a solid blow by his own attack. He was thrown backwards, his white wings scraping along the ground until he could right himself.

"So, you will protect demons, and deny Heaven its final victory?" Michael hissed. Madness had given itself away to unbridled fury. "You, pathetic, wingless creature as you are, you think to raise a hand against me?"

When Uriel spoke, his voice was full of sadness. "Please stop this, my lord Michael. I do not wish to disobey you. Let us go home, and leave Hell to fight its own battles."

"You-" Michael spat, struggling to his feet.

"I don't want to choose," Uriel continued solemnly. "Though, if you force me to, I will make the decision that I should have made at the start of all of this, and you already know what that is. I choose William. I'll protect him until the world comes to an end… and I will obey any order you give me, until you put his life in danger."

"You will suffer for your betrayal!"

"No. No more. I am finally free."

"Kevin?" William murmured from the floor, where he still knelt with Dantalion. "Don't tell me you also…?"

"He's-" Dantalion began, but then he stopped, glancing towards Uriel for permission, who closed his eyes. It was the angel's story, after all – his confession to make.

After a long silence, Uriel spoke. "William, I… My real name is Uriel. I am an angel serving Heaven under Lord Michael… or at least I was. Since the beginning, it has been my duty to watch over Solomon and ensure he used his gifts in the name of the one who granted them to him. In this life, I… I came to protect you from the demons, and to watch over you, and to…" He looked up and saw Michael's maliciously grinning face, but what did it matter now? If he was going to confess, he might as well confess everything. "And to make sure that it was Heaven, and not Hell, that obtained Solomon's powers. The real Kevin Cecil died two months before he was supposed to enter your family's service, and I… I have been lying to you ever since. I am… I am truly sorry for what I have done, William."

When the battlefield lapsed back into silence, no one broke it – no one dared. Uriel simply waited for his judgement to be passed. With his back to William, he had no idea what the other was thinking, and he thought that he maybe didn't want to know.

Then William laughed. It wasn't the pleasant sound Uriel remembered, but bitter and harsh. He turned to see William with his head raised towards the sky, and to whatever dispassionate being might lie beyond it; staring with wide watery eyes and still laughing that mirthless laugh.

He whispered, "So, everything was a lie. All my life, and nothing has been real…"

Uriel hung his head. Dantalion did not. "Am I still not real to you, William?" he asked. Though he could not stand, he raised his hand and rested it against William's cheek, and the other reluctantly turned to look at him. "After everything we've been through, after everything we've fought for together and everything we've lost, is this still just an illusion to you? Are you telling me that this fight here and now means nothing to you? Are you telling me that the tears you shed for Camio and for Sitri were just a lie? Are you going to say that every dream and every smile and every act of kindness and every enemy defeated and every friend made means nothing to you, because they all come from a world that isn't your perfect idea of reality? Life with you is what is real, William! That is our reality! And maybe it's not what we would have chosen either, but that doesn't make it any less meaningful! This is how I feel, and I know it's the same for him-"

"Dantalion-" Uriel tried to interrupt, but the demon wasn't having any of it.

"William, have you any idea how much he has given up for you? All this time spent protecting you; all this time spent watching over you – and not just to keep you safe from men and from demons, but also from Heaven, and from his superiors who wanted to seize Solomon's soul, regardless of what it would do to you! Making peace with demons for your sake, sacrificing his happiness for your own; to say that none of that was real is an insult to both of us!"

"I know," William murmured, but he said nothing more. His hands were balled into fists at his side, though he didn't seem aware of it.

"William-"

"It's okay, Dantalion," Uriel smiled.

"No, it's not okay!" the demon burst out savagely. "He might not know what will happen to you, but I do, and I know that without your wings you'll-"

"Please, Dantalion, peace. I don't regret it. William has always been like a son to me… and those years spent at the Twining Estate have been the happiest of my life. I wouldn't change that for anything."

"Is this your salvation, then?" Michael smirked, and both demon and angel started, for they had forgotten he was there at all. "Is it everything you hoped for? Are you now at peace, knowing you're about to go to your death despised by the only one you ever loved?" He was on his feet now, wings spread to their fullest extent, black lightning crackling up and down the full length of his body.

"Yes," came Uriel's simple affirmation. "Even then, I am free."

Michael attacked, and Uriel raised his cross to meet it. He no longer had the strength to reflect the energy back; no, keeping it from striking himself and the two people he was protecting was all he could do. Yet he resolved to hold out for as long as he could. Though he would not live long anyway – angels never did, once both their wings were gone, as Dantalion had known – he would willingly give the last of his life to William, if it went some small way towards repairing all the wrongs he had done him.

"Kevin?"

That was William. He did not turn round; repelling the archangel's attack took all his concentration. But he did listen.

"Do you remember how you used to tell me stories when I was young? With dragons and ghosts and heroes and magic, or other such nonsense."

"I remember. I thought you had forgotten."

"In the… the accident, was it you who saved me?"

"It was."

"And then you told me it was okay to cry."

"I did." It wasn't a question, but he responded anyway, because he could feel the same tremor in the boy's voice now that he had back then, and it was just as heart-wrenching. "And you don't have to hold back any more."

The next thing he knew, William had flung his arms around him from behind, holding him tight. "Please don't move," he whispered, and then he was sobbing uncontrollably into the white cloth on Uriel's back.

"William," the angel tried. The flood of memories was overwhelming: William, as a child, playing in the grass and laughing; stubborn William, refusing to race him or play games with him even though he secretly might have wanted to; noble William, now the Young Master, now serious head of the Twining family, with no more time to spare for children's stories; gleeful William, receiving the letter offering him a place at Stradford School as a dignified gentleman, and then dancing around the room with childish joy when he thought he was alone; William, heir of Solomon, on the day he first summoned Dantalion, when Uriel knew that the innocent life he had unknowingly been trying to protect was over and the boy must now take his proper place on the stage.

Though he had come to love William like his own child, he had never been allowed to embrace him as a father, partly because William was too proud to allow it, and partly because Uriel was merely the house steward, and it was not his place. It had happened once, though, at his parents' funeral. That day, William had tried his hardest to be the Young Master, but he was still a son who had lost his parents and was alone like never before. He had needed consolation and warmth, and Uriel's was the shoulder he could cry on. That was the moment when he realized he had, against his better judgement, come to love the boy; it was also when he knew that he would never be able to give him up, no matter what.

Now, their roles were reversed. Though William was again the one crying, it was not for himself, but on Uriel's behalf. The angel was the one who needed consoling; who needed comfort; who needed to be forgiven, and to be told that everything would be alright. And William was there – proud William, who was ever so empathetic underneath his defensive exterior, and who loved so deeply that it hurt.

And William said, "You're the only family I have left. I don't blame you for anything."

"Well, isn't this touching?" This interruption came from Samael, as he hefted his sword in both hands. "A nice little reunion before the end of days. It's such a pity to break it up, but there are much more important things to be getting on with. Regicide, for a start!"

With that, he leapt straight for them, bringing his blade crashing down upon the shield. Uriel's protective wall blazed a little brighter; that insubstantial line of light deflected the blow and sent Samael sprawling backwards. "I can't keep this up for long," Uriel told the others firmly.

William, who had felt a shudder run through the other's body when the blow connected, stepped back to give him some space. Absently, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve and glanced back at Dantalion. The demon had struggled to his feet, unwilling to be outdone by the angel, though it was clear he was in no fit state to fight.

"William, you have to go to Dantalion. It's up to you now."

William drew himself together. "Of course. It's finally time for the Head of the Twining Family to step in!" Then he paused; glanced worriedly at Uriel. "But is it… are you sure you're alright with this?"

Uriel's smile was all kindness. "It's always been your choice, William. If it's the demons you choose, then that's just the way it is. Besides, when have you ever listened to anything anyone else has said?"

"Thank you... Kevin."

So, while their guardian angel protected them from harm, the human and the demon stood face to face with each other. Whether it was Uriel's magic or just a trick of their minds, the tumultuous chaos of the battlefield seemed to die away until there was only the two of them left in the world. William was the shorter of the two, and he had to tilt his head up slightly to look into Dantalion's eyes. "Dantalion-" he began, before realizing that, for perhaps the first time in his life, words had deserted him.

To his relief, Dantalion seemed to know what to do. With a grace that belied his exhaustion, he sank smoothly down on one knee, bowing his head. He took William's right hand – the one still bearing Solomon's ring – and brought it ever so gently to his lips. As if he didn't notice William's obvious embarrassment, he closed his eyes. His face his surprisingly serene.

William placed his hand softly on top of Dantalion's head. On his finger, Solomon's ring was throbbing with power and blazing brightly, but his hand was somehow still.

"In the name of Solomon the Wise, and by the authority granted by the Ring of Wisdom, I- Agh!" He broke off with a wordless shout and turned away, waving his arms with inelegant disbelief. "I can't do it! It's too ridiculous!"

"William?" Dantalion had opened his eyes and was gazing up at him with a mixture of bemusement and affection.

"I'm a realist; why do I have to say these stupid things? It's embarrassing!" He glared at Dantalion. "At least stand up!" The demon complied. Now they were on equal footing again, and slightly too close for comfort.

William looked away again. He must have sensed more than saw Dantalion's raised eyebrows, because he protested, "Alright, alright, I'm doing it!"

Dantalion said amicably, "William?"

"What now?" he demanded, automatically turning back to face the other.

That was when Dantalion gently lifted William's chin with his hand, leant in closer, and kissed him.

At first, William was too stunned to react, regardless of whether his instinct was to close his eyes or push him away and run. All thoughts left his head. He could do nothing but stand there in shock while his heart pounded in his chest. He was acutely aware of Dantalion, Dantalion's body, Dantalion's heart beating in time with his own, and there was nothing else that mattered in the entire world.

Only when Dantalion let him go did the paralysis leave him, and he was free to scramble backwards, blushing furiously. "What the hell was that for?" he demanded.

"To make it easier." Dantalion was grinning, and there was a playful, dangerous spark in his eyes. He took a step forwards; William automatically stepped backwards and Dantalion seemed to flinch. He seemed… hurt.

"There was… no need to do that…" William mumbled, turning his face away once more.

Dantalion's gaze softened. "I will always be by your side, William," he promised. This time, when he stepped forwards, the other didn't move away; when Dantalion took William's hand and held it against his chest, where his heart beat out the same rhythm as any human heart, William didn't resist.

"Just say that you choose me. It's all you have to do. As long as it is… what you want."

They looked at each other intently. William found that he couldn't look away from the other's gaze – and that he didn't want to. This was the truth at the end of everything.

William scowled, still embarrassed. But… "Of course it's what I want," he muttered. "I choose you, Dantalion. I'll always choose you. Whether it's to be the King of Hell… or if… it's just…"

But anything else he was about to say was lost in what happened next. It began with a golden light radiating out from Solomon's ring, increasing in intensity until it outshone every other light source in sight, setting their shadows dancing together on the scorched earth. Then there came the fire – Dantalion's fire – looping around William's outstretched arm; growing until the two of them were encircled by brilliant crimson rings, a crown of flames for the victorious king. It was blinding, but William didn't look away. He wanted to see Dantalion in all his glory; wanted to see the demon's noble face as he glanced over William's shoulder to the Doors with an expression of wonder.

The amount of power flooding into Dantalion was incredible. Even William could feel it, in the thrumming of the air and the shaking of the ground and the soaring of the other's heartbeat beneath his own burning hand. The others had stopped their assault on Uriel's shield to watch. This was the power of the King, the chosen one, and, when standing in its wondrous light, it was possible to believe that the battle could be won and the apocalypse could be undone.

"Dantalion…" William breathed, awe-struck despite himself.

Dantalion smiled at him, and it was wonderful. "William, thank you… for choosing me."

The light faded, taking Dantalion's wounds with it. He was whole once more. His job done, William let his hand fall to his side. The ring was uncomfortably warm on his finger. He curled his hand into a fist. "Put an end to this," he said. It was partly a request, but mostly an order, and one which they both knew didn't need to be given.

As Dantalion ran back towards the fray, the battle seemed to pick up pace in anticipation. Uriel's barrier finally shattered; his job was done and the last of his power had been spent. He held his hand out and the demon touched it as he shot by, a passing high five for the angel and demon tag team. Now, the burden was Dantalion's to shoulder, and he would gladly carry it home.

Samael came at him first. He had struck Dantalion down before, but now he gravely underestimated the power that Hell itself had bestowed upon its Interim Ruler. Dantalion was _fast_, and if gravity hadn't been able to make much of an impact on him before, then now it bent to his every whim. The extra reach that the great sword afforded Samael counted for nothing as his opponent blazed around him. Fire flared at Dantalion's ankles; one step later and he had the momentum to spin and kick the sword straight out of the other's grasp. It whistled through the air, and buried itself point-first in the earth.

His one eye darting anxiously between Dantalion and his sword, Samael took a step backwards. Yet he wasn't the one Dantalion wanted to fight – he was little more than an annoyance now. The dangerous one was Michael, who had come here expecting to defeat Lucifer himself; even with his new powers, Dantalion was well aware that he wasn't on the level of the sleeping King of Hell. So he turned and sprung towards the archangel with fire roiling in the air around him, and Michael did the same.

They collided in mid-air, two beings of titanic power illuminating Hell with their struggle for dominance. Black lightning flashed, hellfire roared; for all their strengths and weaknesses they seemed to be evenly matched. On the other hand, Dantalion would simply not lose. It wasn't even a possibility, when he fought with everything William had given him.

When the breakthrough came, it was so fast that everyone watching from the ground missed it at first. Somehow, Dantalion had slipped through Michael's defence, and struck him a fierce blow from behind. The archangel fell, Dantalion followed like a blazing meteor, and they struck the ground one after the other. By the time the smoke cleared, the others had rushed forward in the hope of getting a better view of the victor.

Dantalion knelt on Michael's back, fire racing up and down his body without harm. The angel's wings were thrust out at awkward angles, and his face was buried into Hell's red dirt. Blood and dust stained his white clothing; his wings were marred by cuts and burns. Though he writhed, he could not break free of Dantalion's resolute grip.

"Leave," the demon commanded him. "Hell will not fall to your kind, not on this day nor any other. Go home, and leave us to our own affairs."

"As if I'd take orders from scum like you-"

With a flash of anger, Dantalion raised his fist to strike him but a hand on his shoulder stopped him: Uriel. "Please," the other angel requested, and Dantalion grudgingly gave in. He stood up and moved away, enough to give the two some space, but not so far that he couldn't spring in between them if he had to.

Michael pushed himself up on his hands, coughing. Uriel knelt by his side, but he knew better than to try to help. His head bowed respectfully, he offered, "Lord Michael, we should leave this place."

"How dare you-?"

"Lord Michael," Uriel repeated, humble but with no small amount of determination. "This isn't what we do. For everything that you say, you have allied with demons, and sought to strike down your own brother like a coward while he slept. I know that you have always had Heaven's best interests in mind, but this isn't how we fight our battles. Deception and violence are the tools of demons, and you, most gracious of all God's angels, are better than this."

"You, pathetic wingless angel, you think to-"

"You need to rest," Uriel continued, as if oblivious to the danger. "You've been fighting so hard for Heaven all this time. The battle doesn't need to be won today. We are in no danger from Hell for the time being, so we'll be safe for a little while, and we'll be ready to win fairly on the battlefield with Heaven's true might when the next war comes around. You don't have to push yourself so much. You can rest, now."

Again, Michael pushed him away. "I don't want your pity!"

"I know. But it's alright, once in a while, to need it. Our fight is over. Let's go home."

This time, the archangel didn't resist. Uriel picked him up tenderly; he lay in his arms like a child. He made to leave, then turned back to Dantalion, who nodded once. He understood that killing Michael was a bad idea – as Uriel had warned him once before, it would cause Heaven to turn its full might against Hell, and that was another problem they didn't need right now. This was the closest Uriel could give to a guarantee that Heaven would leave them in peace, for the time being. Even if it meant letting his enemy escape, it was Dantalion's duty as King to choose the most favourable outcome for his nation – and he and Uriel could part, almost unbelievably, as friends.

"Wait!" William shouted. "Wait, Kevin – or Uriel, or whatever your name is-"

"William…?"

"I know you have to leave, but… there'll always be a place open for you at the Twining Estate, if you want it…"

Uriel's smile was ever so sad. "Thank you, William. And… goodbye."

And with that, the two angels left Hell.

* * *

The battle was not quite over. Barely had they turned back to the Doors before Dantalion found a blade at his throat – Samael's blade. "Don't move!"

Dantalion's eyes narrowed. "Give up, former Duke Samael. It's over."

"The revolution will not end until you are dead!"

"Then, will you strike down your chosen king?"

"Chosen only by Solomon, whom I have renounced-!"

"Chosen by Hell itself, and by our eternal Lord Lucifer, for his unparalleled courage, and his unwavering loyalty through the darkest of nights."

It was a woman who had spoken – who else could it be but Astaroth? She strode towards them fearlessly, no less regal for her torn and blood-splattered clothes. At her heels trotted Lamia. What the girl lacked in energy and endurance she more than made up for with excitement as her eyes fell on Dantalion. Behind them, out of the smoke, came more and more figures. Some they recognized; most they did not. Some were still fighting with each other; yet more walked in silence. The Doors were calling them.

"Chosen because he has proven himself the strongest of us all." Beelzebub came from the north. He appeared from the barren plains, drawn to witness the crowning of the new king. Factional animosities had been left behind with the battlefield.

"Chosen to be our saviour… as much as I hate to admit it." Baalberith. He had come too, teleporting in from nowhere to see the battle's end.

At his side stood Sitri. He was pale and weak and leaning heavily on his uncle's arm, but more importantly, he was most definitely alive. He couldn't manage more than a small smile, but William's unrestrained grin was enough for both of them.

Sitri and the three leaders formed a semicircle around the combatants, standing in solidarity with their temporary king and casting silent judgement against Samael. Their former ally touched his blade to Dantalion's neck as if in warning, but his hands were shaking.

Dantalion did not flinch. He was not at all afraid. William was by his side, and, on impulse, he loosely entwined his fingers with Dantalion's own. He had no words to add to those the great demons had already spoken, but that simple gesture spoke volumes. Though he might later blame his instincts for embarrassing him, in the moment it was undoubtedly the right thing to do.

The new Interim Ruler spoke. "Samael, former Duke of the East and Chief Steward of Hell, you will be held and judged for your crimes against our Lord Lucifer, and against Hell itself."

Samael staggered backwards as though he had been struck. "I was trying to make us stronger!" he snarled. "For too long we've been held in thrall to Solomon and our absent King-"

"Be silent, traitor!" Beelzebub savagely interjected. "The blood of hundreds of our kind lies on your hands. You will never be forgiven."

"Do you really think I seek forgiveness? You are fools, all of you, and you will suffer and die when Hell falls!"

Astaroth told him, "Come with us and face your final judgement."

"I will never!" Samael screamed, lunging for Dantalion.

The other demons move immediately to defend him, but there was no need. In one easy movement Dantalion snapped his hand free from William's, pointed to his opponent, and called down the power of the king's fire. That inferno flared one final time, and when its brilliance died, there was nothing left of the Revolution's leader but a smoking pile of ash and a lifeless black sword.

Astaroth placed her hand on Dantalion's shoulder. "It's over."

Silence fell. The leaders of the demon realm turned their attention to their surroundings. The Doors had vanished, gone back to whichever dimension they normally inhabited now that the immediate danger was over. Around the seven of them there was a large ring of demons, keeping a wary distance between themselves and the leaders. The crowd stretched out in all directions, as far as the eye could see. All fighting had ceased. Those who had advocated the chaos of the Dark Dawn Revolution and those who had fought in the defence of Lucifer stood side by side, waiting anxiously for something to happen.

With all eyes on him, Dantalion raised his right hand into the air. A pulse of fiery light flashed from his palm, streaking up into the sky and striking the cover of roiling red clouds, sending ripples of crimson out across all of his new domain. The motion was mirrored on the ground; a wave of some description seemed to be moving outwards through the crowd. At first it was difficult to tell what was happening – and then it clicked into place. The demons were kneeling to their new king. The ripple of movement was slow at first, but it gathered momentum as it travelled until it became a swell, a flood, a tsunami of reverence. Young or old, large or small, rebel or loyalist, human-like or utterly alien, pillar of Solomon or detester of mankind, all came together to kneel before Dantalion. Astaroth also dropped to one knee, and the other demon lords followed suit. Even William joined in. In the moment, it was overwhelmingly the right thing to do.

Someone shouted, "Long live the King!"

And the entire crowd took up the chant, repeating it over and over, declaring their victory again and again and again. Hell was once more united, and their jubilant triumph was enough to shake the very earth they stood on.

The Revolution was over, and when the fiery sun rose upon Dantalion's first day as Interim King, its dawning was brighter than it had ever been before.

* * *

_**A/N: **__This was genuinely the most difficult thing I have ever written. I wasn't expecting, when I started out, to have William & Dantalion's relationship get quite to this point; I was happy to leave it all fluffy and implied rather than explicit. But then, as I was writing this, I started watching the anime adaption of Uraboku, and that completely changed my mind. I can't really bring up why without spoilers but I'm sure anyone who's watched it through to the end understands my utter frustration at two particular characters... and why I immediately resolved that I didn't want anyone to feel the same way about this. I guess it will work for some people and not for others, but hey, it is what it is :)_

_After that, the progression of Abdication Parts 2 & 3 came naturally to me in concept... just not at all in the actual writing of it. Agh. Two hours it took me to write that one little bit. Two hours with the Splash Mountain soundtrack on loop. That's How Do You Do?, Everybody Has A Laughing Place, and Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah, on loop, for two hours, whilst trying and failing miserably to write a single short romantic scene. It's fairly safe to say that I left my sanity behind on that day. So I hope that the sacrifice was worth it, and it came out okay. Reading it back, William acts like a cross between Yuki from Uraboku and Makise Kurisu from Steins;Gate. Heh. He's so adorable :P_

_Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, in one way or another! Just one more to go! :D It'll definitely be up by the end of the weekend, though that might be 11:59pm on Sunday night, depending on how quickly I can get over my jet lag and edit the final chapter... ^^' ~CS_


	11. Dantalion - ABDICATION PART 3

_**A/N:** The final chapter! :D William goes all mopey (again), Isaac takes some advice from Steins;Gate's Mayuri, and I'm left hoping that the University of Oxford application process hasn't changed much in the last hundred-and-something years. This was the second of two potential endings that I wrote for this fanfic. The first sucked and I'm not sorry to see it go... But one of the scenes that got cut when I re-wrote it was the one which explained why this chapter was called Abdication. Ah well. You can interpret that (and the ending!) however you'd like :P _

_Finally, I just want to say this: thank you to everyone for reading. To those of you who have reviewed this, sent me messages, or just managed to stick with this story all the way through to the end, thank you so much for supporting me :) You've made all the time and energy spent on this worth it. I hope that you thought reading it was worth it too, and that you enjoy this last epilogue :) ~CS_

* * *

**Dark Dawn Revolution**

_by CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

**ABDICATION PART 3**,

or The Salvation Of A King At The End Of Everything

Dantalion took William home.

It was dark when they re-entered the grounds of Stradford School. The sky was a deep isotropic blue; in the human world, the sun had long since vanished beyond the horizon. It was almost certainly past curfew. A handful of windows still flickered with faint candlelight, but this close to the exam period, that was no indication that it was still the right side of midnight – only that a worrying number of students had been lured into that most deadly of traps, late night last-minute revision.

There was no one else about. Human and demon, they stood alone and silent in a forest of shadows. The lights in the windows of the school buildings seemed, in that moment, to be as far away as the glittering stars above, on their endless odyssey through the emptiness and onwards to forever. It was all so unreal. William gazed at the school where he had invested his life and his future – which he knew better than he knew his own home, which he had always known to be necessary but had only recently begun to truly enjoy – and struggled to find words to describe what he was feeling.

Actually, _any_ words would have done. Anything to break the silence and make this dream-like world his reality one more. But there were no words which came to him. He was a great politician and an unstoppable speaker, three times champion of the school's debating competition, yet none of that would help him here – this feeling was entirely new, and nothing had prepared him for it. It was unbelievable sadness, and an overwhelming loneliness… and a desperation that Dantalion would say something, anything, to break the silence.

In the end, a snapping twig came to his rescue. Dantalion heard it and immediately readied himself for a fight; no nocturnal animal native to England's woodlands would have caused such a sharp break. William also heard it, and it didn't even occur to him that it might have been an animal. Old habits die hard, and his prefect instincts were almost as well-attuned as Dantalion's battle ones. A student was out breaking curfew.

"Hey!" William shouted. "It's past curfew! Come out, and I might not report you to the Headmaster!"

After a brief pause, there was a rustling sound and a hooded figure stepped out from behind a bush. "Oh, it's just you, William!"

"…Isaac?"

His old friend bounded across the clearing towards them, as lively as ever despite being caught breaking the rules. With his short stature, ragged cloak, unrivalled enthusiasm and mop of bright red hair on his head, Isaac looked for all the world like one of the cheerful imps in the fairy tales he was always going on about. "William! Where have you been?" he chided. "With the first exam tomorrow and everything – ooh, Dantalion! You look so cool!"

He had finally spotted his former classmate, dressed in full demon regalia, and his eyes were as wide as saucers and shining with awe. He would never tire of seeing the demons.

William rolled his eyes. "Don't encourage him."

But Dantalion was already running a hand through his hair proudly, doing his self-satisfied and not-at-all-embarrassed chortle. "You're just jealous."

"Seriously, though…" Isaac continued. "There's something different about you this time, but I can't put my finger on it…"

"Please stop it," William groaned, but he was suppressing a smile. Dantalion was still Dantalion, and Isaac would always be Isaac. Maybe things weren't so bad. "Wait, Isaac," he added suddenly. "Did you say that the first exam is tomorrow?"

Isaac nodded enthusiastically. "Yup! Well, I guess that technically it's today now…" His face fell, as if he had only just realized what he was saying.

"All that, and I still have to sit the exams…" William muttered. "Ah, well. A Twining's got to do what a Twining's got to do. Those Oxbridge applications don't write themselves, after all."

"Indeed." Isaac was nodding, and sidling away from William as he did so. The prefect narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Well, now that that's sorted, I need to-"

William's hand – in his mind, it was the long arm of the law – came crashing down on his shoulder. "Isaac…"

"Yes, William?" came the somewhat nervous response.

"If the exam is tomorrow, then what are you doing out in the middle of the forest after curfew?"

"Uhh…"

"I'm waiting!"

"Uh, I, well, I thought that I could summon an angel of good fortune to help me pass the English exam-"

If people could spontaneously explode with rage, then there would have been nothing left of William. "Enough of this nonsense! If you have time to run around in the forest then you have time to study! I haven't been tutoring you all this time for nothing! Get back to your room and pass this exam on your own merit!"

"But, William," Isaac pleaded. "I just want to-"

"Go! And if you're not in your room by the time I get back, I'll have fifty lines from you in Latin before the morning exam!"

Isaac scarpered. His plaintive cry of "Wil-li-am-!" echoed back to them through the forest, and then he was gone, and there was just the two of them again.

But the eerie silence from before hadn't returned, and it took William a moment to realize why. Dantalion was laughing. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

"What you said."

"Huh?"

"It's just that before, you would have told Isaac that angels don't exist, and that he should give up on his occult nonsense."

"Didn't I say that? Well, I'm sure he knows I meant it."

"You've changed, William," Dantalion said, and his smile was wonderful. He placed his right hand on William's shoulder. "And I'm glad."

"I don't know what you're talking about," William muttered, avoiding his gaze. "Anyway, I need to go. Like Isaac said, there's an exam tomorrow, and I, uh…"

"William. You don't have to do this. Come back with me."

"I can't." He had had enough time to think about this, and now his excuses – _reasons, _they were _reasons _– all came out in a rush. "I have to sit my exams. I can't risk losing my reputation by running off the night before they start. Plus I won't get another chance at this, and I can't get an offer from either Oxford or Cambridge University without good results. Then I need to actually get to university, mix with the right people, and make influential friends, so that I'm all set for the future. Even before then, I need to get my family's finances in order, so that they don't throw me out of school, and so that… And someone has to help Isaac, or he'll still be repeating the year when he's sixty… And… And Jacob House won't be able to cope through exam season without its model prefect, and…"

If he talked quickly enough, there wouldn't be any room for doubt or regret. If he could convince Dantalion, then maybe he could convince himself.

"It's okay, William," Dantalion told him, but it wasn't. At some point, he had become able to read the demon's moods; to understand him like he had never understood any human being before. It wasn't as if he cared for it, but he wasn't as ignorant as he would have liked to be, and he knew that Dantalion wasn't okay with it. He also knew that Dantalion would make himself okay with it, if it was what William wanted – what William needed. If it was the only reasonable way forward. And he hated that too. Hated it. Why-?

He was still struggling to come to terms with this new frustration when Dantalion embraced him. One moment he was left in thought, and the next his face was buried in the demon's shoulder, surrounded by the warmth of his body and the tender strength of his arms. "Then I'll stay with you."

But after a moment of shock, William broke free and pushed the other away. "No," he replied, and felt a sudden dark satisfaction at how resolute his voice sounded. Maybe he could do this, after all.

"William?"

"You can't." Unfortunately, he found that he couldn't even pretend to stay angry, not on this night. "You're needed in Hell, Dantalion. I did not go through that nightmare of being ripped from my comfortable home just days before the most important exam period of my life and thrown into some stupid costumed battle only to have you ruin everything now!" This brought a small smile to Dantalion's lips, and William's voice softened. "They need their King right now. This is your chance to rebuild a stronger Hell and undo the damage that was done by the Revolution. It won't be easy… but only you can do it, Dantalion. Only you can end the fighting, and save those who need you, and protect your realm from Heaven until it can stand on its own… I won't let you run away from your responsibility so easily, you know that."

"…I do know," he smiled.

William turned away. "Besides, there's no way you can sit any exams right now. You can't do no revision and go gallivanting off the week before and then expect to pass! As a prefect, I have the school's reputation to think about – and I can't allow a slacker demon like you to bring down the school's averages!"

Dantalion laughed outright at that. He was so simple, and so easily pleased. William envied him… and it also made him happy. When Dantalion smiled, he could smile too. "Heh, your pitiful human exams won't pose a problem for me!"

Folding his arms, William snapped, "Well then, why don't you give me a quick rundown of all the literary themes in Hamlet, with quotes, right now? The literature exam is tomorrow, after all."

"Uhh…"

William's mock glare became a smirk. "See? You're much better suited to ruling Hell than analysing Shakespeare."

And then he sobered again. This night was a tempest of emotions. If all farewells were like this, then he never wanted to have to go through another one. "You need to be there and I need to be here. We're from different worlds, Dantalion; we lead different lives. That's just how it is, and nothing will change that."

"...I know."

"Then that's settled."

"How long is the exam period?"

"Huh? Oh, about four weeks until my last exam, I think."

"Four weeks? That should be long enough to get most of my affairs in order. We'll have a stable government by then, and we should be well on the way to recovery… I'll come back to school when the exams are over."

"That's-" _Another false hope_. Even as his traitorous heart soared at the thought, his brain brought his emotions crashing straight back down to reality. The exams were such an important part of his political career that he hadn't even stopped to think about what awaited him when they were over. "Dantalion, when the exams finish, summer break begins. Stradford School will shut down until autumn. I'll have to go home, and try to get the family affairs in order." He paused, cleared his throat, and plunged on anyway. "You'll always be welcome at the Twining Estate. I mean, it's not like I want you to come and cause trouble and ruin my quiet life like you always do, but… it'll be lonely kicking about that big old place by myself, so, you know. But… even so, Dantalion, things won't just… just go back to how they were before. They've changed, haven't they?"

"Yes, I suppose they have." Perhaps he really did understand. William wanted to think so, anyway. This time, when Dantalion put his arms around him, he didn't fight it, and just let himself be held in that kind embrace. He was glad no one was around to see them; he also didn't want it to end. Yet, as with all things, it did end, and they had to say goodbye.

William looked up at Dantalion; Dantalion looked down at William. They stood there in silence, the Interim Ruler of Hell and his Elector, together at long last.

"I guess this is goodbye for now, William."

"Yeah. Look after yourself, Dantalion. Don't let anyone ruin all my hard work in electing you."

"Don't worry," Dantalion smiled. "Farewell, William."

"Farewell."

* * *

_It was always going to end this way._

_He belongs in Hell, and I belong here. Even if he wants to stay, even if I want to go with him, we'd just be leaving too much behind; too much unfinished. It won't work like that. It just can't. _

_This is why I never wanted to elect anyone... Why I never wanted to reveal my true feelings. This final farewell was inevitable. We were always going to end with goodbye._

* * *

There was another moment of poignant silence, then William raised his hand in farewell and strode off in the direction of the school. There was no point in dragging it out any more. Nothing was going to change. There was nothing left to do; no more words left to be said. No more _words_-

_Except…_

It was a crazy thought. William tried to suppress it, but like all wild and preposterous ideas, this one caught and held. This was goodbye, after all, so what did it matter? It was so unlike him, but… but Dantalion had said that he had changed, and why did a change always have to be for the worst? It was stupid, it was ridiculous, even thinking it was embarrassing – but if he was that opposed to the idea, why was he now running back towards the clearing where Dantalion was as fast as he could?

He didn't know if he would have the nerve to do it. He didn't care. Even though the thought of it made him panic, it wasn't enough to make him stop. If Dantalion could do it, then so could he. Branches stung his cheeks, the wind tore through his hair, thorns tugged at his shirt, and above all, his heart soared on an ecstatic wind; not hesitating, not slowing, not stopping for fear or doubt as he ran and ran and ran to the place where Dantalion was waiting for him; blood rushing, senses on fire, heart drumming with sheer eagerness – because it didn't matter what anyone said, not any more, and as soon as he broke into that clearing he would kiss-

But Dantalion had already gone.

* * *

"It was a stupid idea anyway," William said, to anyone who might have been listening. "It's not like it matters."

He walked back to Jacob House on his own.

* * *

William was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice Isaac was sat on the floor outside his door until he tripped over his feet.

"Hey, William, careful!" Isaac protested.

"Wait… Isaac, what on earth are you doing outside my room?"

"I didn't get the chance to tell you earlier because you threatened me with Latin," he began reproachfully, pushing himself to his feet and his full unimpressive height. "But I really really want to go to the University of Oxford."

William blinked at him. "What…?"

"Like I said. I've decided I'm going to go to Oxford!"

"WHAT?" William's voice became a shout before he could stop it. With a quick glance left and right down the corridor, he grabbed Isaac by the collar and dragged him inside his room, closing the door behind them. Safe from being discovered, he continued in a strangled hiss, "Isaac, you can't just decide that you're going to aim for Oxford on the night before the exams start! It takes so much hard work and preparation and do you really think that with your grades-?"

With a sigh, William dropped into his desk chair and put his head in his hands. "It's an admirable goal, Isaac, but you needed to have been working hard for it all year round, not just on the last night!"

"Maybe I'll prove you wrong!" William, taken aback by Isaac's unusual show of defiance, found he had nothing to say to that. "I do listen when you tutor me, and maybe I'll do better in these exams than you think! Besides, the really important ones are next year's ones, and I'm going to work really hard over the next few months. My father went to Oxford, and his father before him, and his grandfather as well, and I think I can do it too if I really try, and if you help, William!"

He was so earnest, and honest. He wasn't thinking things through, but throwing caution to the winds; doing not what was logical, but what felt right. It reminded William of a certain demon that he really didn't want to be thinking about right now. He heaved another sigh. "What brought this on, all of a sudden?"

"It's where you're headed, isn't it?"

William hadn't really had much chance over the past few weeks to decide which of Oxford or Cambridge he was going to apply to, but it would without a doubt be one of them, so why not? "I guess so. It's not as easy as just wanting to go there though, you have to have a brain like mine-"

His arguments fell on deaf ears. "You've been really sad and distant recently, William, and I couldn't work out why. And then you disappeared, and I thought… well, I wondered if you were upset because you were thinking about the future. We've known each other for a long time, but it hasn't _felt _like a long time, you know? And since the demons arrived, time's been moving so quickly. A year seems like forever, but it's always gone before you can truly appreciate it.

"It occurred to me that in a year from now we'll be here preparing for our final exams before we all go off to our own universities – and we'll be saying goodbye. I love being here with you and Dantalion and all the others; even though I'm not very good at school, I wouldn't change it for anything. We might have another year, but that's finite, and I know it will be gone in the blink of an eye, and then we'll all go our separate ways, and those timeless days that we used to spend together will be gone. I wondered if that was what was making you sad, and I thought… Well, don't you think it would be good if we could all go to university together? You and me and Dantalion and Sitri and everyone – don't you think it would be fun?"

For a long, long time, William was silent. So still was he, Isaac could have been forgiven for believing the other had fallen asleep with his eyes open. Indeed, Isaac was about to lean forward and wave his hand through William's vacant gaze when his head shot up.

"Fun?" he asked. Isaac took a step back. He had never seen that look before in his friend's eyes, and it terrified him.

"You think it will be fun?"

Madness and anguish.

"Fun, spending the rest of my life with the demons? The childish brat, the obnoxious meathead, always getting in my way and tripping me up, every way I turn?"

Loss and loneliness.

"Fun, having to listen non-stop to your occult nonsense and your stupid logic – you, failure of an heir to the Morton tea empire, with your lofty ideas and no drive or ability to see them through?"

Pain, and fear, and despair, and utterly heart-breaking sorrow.

"When I finally have the chance to meet new people and make important connections, you really think that I'll want to… spend all my days with you fools… who are always… holding me back?"

It was getting harder and harder to speak. His strong voice, bordering on lunacy, was breaking down. There was a lump in his throat and he couldn't understand why. He was shaking and shivering and all he wanted was for Isaac to leave, couldn't he see he didn't want him around not now and not ever, why wasn't he…?

And Isaac only looked up at him and frowned and asked, "William… are you crying?"

"Go away!" William yelled. He no longer cared about disturbing people in the other rooms; no longer cared about anything. "Just get out, and take your stupid dreams with you!"

Isaac ran. William locked the door, slammed his fist against it, and then slumped down on the floor in the dark. Tears were streaming down his face and he didn't even notice.

Because that was how it worked, wasn't it?

Everything changed. And even if they got through the summer and Hell was rebuilt and Dantalion and Sitri came back to Stradford School, it would never be the same. They were closer now, after what they had been through, but they were also further apart. Camio would never be there again. They would no longer be competing with each other over the candidacy for Interim Ruler – there wouldn't even be a need for them to work together to protect William from anything. Ultimately, there would be nothing to keep the demons struggling through life in this boring human if they could still be friends and somehow make a human life work on top of their vital roles and responsibilities in the new Hell, time would fly by and then they'd all be going their own separate ways again when university came along.

Nothing lasted forever. Less than a day ago, he and Dantalion had chosen each other, sworn to stay with each other, and what did he have to show for it? They had defeated the bad guys and ended the Dark Dawn Revolution, but what had they saved? What, at the end of everything, did he have left of the life he had loved?

No. Words were cheap and irony was insatiable. Life had no inclination to accommodate promises.

After all, it didn't take a Revolution to bring about change.

Time was capable of doing that all by itself.

* * *

Dawn; a sure sign that the world was continuing its inexorable march onwards. It crept in through the still-open curtains, gently at first and then with growing impatience, until the trickle of light was a flood, bathing the room with summer's golden sunshine. Morning had come and still William had not slept. There had been too many important things to think about for him to allow sleep to get in the way.

Though the sunrise had not brought with it a restful awakening or peace of mind, it had changed something, and now he had things to do. William pushed himself to his feet. First things first – he had to make himself presentable. He washed his face at the sink, splashing his red-ringed eyes with cold water until all signs that something might have been amiss had been eradicated. He exchanged the uniform he had been wearing, complete with its rips, grazes and bloodstains, for a pristine one from his wardrobe. He combed his hair, polished his shoes as best as he could, and went to the mirror. He examined his reflection from all angles until he was satisfied that there wasn't a hair out of place; that the William of last night was gone and only Prefect William, who enforced the rules and came top in exams, remained.

After all, things changed, didn't they?

He was still several hours too early for the exam, but it was late enough now for other students to be starting their morning routines, with or without the addition of memorizing Shakespeare quotes over breakfast. It was a reasonable time to go knocking on people's doors, so he left his room and went to apologize to Isaac.

Isaac opened his door at the third round of knocking, having dismissed the first as part of a lingering dream and ignored the second in the hope that whoever it was would just go away. Now he stood in the opening, holding a pillow under one arm and rubbing his eyes blearily with the other. He moaned something that was probably supposed to be William's name but came out as a lovable tumble of disjointed sounds.

"Good morning, Isaac," William greeted him brightly, sweeping past him and throwing the curtains open wide. In an unusually proficient manoeuvre, he hooked Isaac by the collar of his pyjamas before the boy could climb back into bed and bury his head under the covers, and deposited him in a chair. Snatching the pillow away from him foiled his next attempt to curl up on the chair and go back to sleep, and under William's disapproving gaze, Isaac had to bid a fond farewell to his lie-in and listen to what his friend had to say.

"First off, I need to apologize. I was rude to you last night, and I had no good reason to be. I hope you can forgive me."

"Uhh…" Isaac was all bewilderment until memory caught up with him. "It's okay, you were upset-"

"But for what it's worth, I think you're right."

"Uhh?"

"To cut a long story short, I'm going to Oxford. There's no doubt that I'll get in, of course, and when I do… well, I'd like it if everyone else was there with me."

"But you already said that I wouldn't be able to-"

"True, I did say that, and it's going to take a hell of a lot of work. But you come from a line of Oxford graduates with a tea-importing empire, and you, Isaac, are going to milk your heritage for all it's worth. We'll exploit your father's contacts, your grandfather's contacts, and if we can somehow drag your grades up to a passable level, we might at least convince them to interview you… which means they'll have to meet you in person, leaving them open to all sorts of tea-based persuasive techniques!"

Isaac's eyes were wide; William's feverish excitement was contagious. "You really think it's possible?"

"Yes, if we work hard together. I wonder if we'll be able to get Mycroft Swallow on board too." William was pacing now, stroking his chin, looking one part enthusiastic schoolboy and two parts evil genius. "I know he wants to go to Oxford as well. While he lost a lot of political sway after his father died, his family still has many powerful contacts in the army – and all of his father's money, of course! His grades are good, but not good enough, though I should be able to tutor two just as easily as I can tutor one… what do you think, Isaac? Surely if we pool your contacts, Swallow's resources, and my genius intellect, all three of us will be able to make it to Oxford together!"

"William…!" Isaac had no words; all his admiration was pushed into that single utterance. It was crazy and foolish to even think about it, let alone actually try it, but if they could succeed – well, even if they succeeded, things would still change, because that was how time worked. It just meant that their future wouldn't have to come at the expense of the present, and wouldn't that be worth it? "What about Dantalion and Sitri? It won't be the same without them around."

"Hmm. I've given it some thought," William carefully began, and he had – an entire night's worth of thinking, because it was unquestionably more important than the looming literature exam. "It'll be bad enough trying to apply with no reputable family name and mediocre grades, and God only knows where they've been getting all their money from – not to mention that they're too busy to sit this year's exams, so they'll have to work twice as hard next year. Still, I don't think it'll be impossible. Not if we work together. We'll do revision sessions, and interview preparation… and you were right, Isaac. It'll be fun. Even if we don't all manage to get there, fighting for it together will be fun."

"Do you think they'll want to, though?"

William's sadness only lasted for a moment. "I don't know. They might not. They might be too busy in Hell to come back to school next year. But it won't cost me anything to ask them, so that's what I'm going to do."

"But… if they don't ever come back to school, how will you ask them?"

"Well." William took a deep breath. "I've had an idea. I have absolutely no idea if I'll be able to do it, but… when the exams are over, I'll…" He coughed. "I'll need you to be there too. Let's say… the first day of August. Will you be able to travel to my estate for that day?"

"Sure, why?"

William avoided that question too. "And I'll need you to bring some books."

"What kind of books?"

The response was unintelligible.

"Eh?"

"Your occult books, of course, Isaac!" William snapped, irritated.

Part of Isaac wanted to stare at him, dumbfounded; another part wanted to jump up and down with excitement; yet another wanted to laugh and say "I told you so!" – William, however, was far too uncomfortable to let him do any of the above. His words ran into each other in their haste, first because of the need to keep talking so that Isaac couldn't, and later through sheer overwhelming enthusiasm. "Except now isn't the time to be talking about this! We have an exam in an hour, and if we don't do well, then all may be lost before we even get the chance to see the demons again! Get some clothes on, grab your Shakespeare, and we'll see if the dining hall is serving breakfast before the exam starts. Hurry, Isaac, hurry! The first stage of our battle is upon us!"

And then he was off, half-running and half-skipping down the corridor, and all the while laughing like a lunatic – a wonderful, carefree, radiant lunatic, who had finally found something worth fighting for.

* * *

The evening of the first day of August found William standing out on the balcony overlooking the gardens of his mansion. After the intensity of the afternoon – of all things, he had never thought he would find himself engaged in a vicious debate over the correct way to draw a magic circle – the peace and quiet came as something of a relief. He leaned out over the side with his arms resting on the railing, enjoying the feeling of the wind ruffling his hair.

The afternoon had slipped away from them; by now, the sun had almost reached the loving arms of its old friend the horizon, and its grateful glow turned the lawns below into fields of gold. Kevin had done a fantastic job of keeping the gardens under control and the house presentable. It had been enough of a shock to find his former house steward here when William had first returned from school, let alone that he wanted to return to work. Kevin had bluntly informed him that he no longer had a place in Heaven, and wished to continue serving as William's house steward, if he would let him – something William was hardly going to say no to, given how he still hadn't been able to entice any of his old staff back.

Kevin didn't talk about being Uriel unless William asked, which he rarely did. Once, the boy had mustered his courage and asked about what Dantalion had hinted to concerning a wingless angel's lifespan, but Kevin had just smiled. "True, I don't have long to live, but that's from an angel's viewpoint," he had said. "In human terms, I've still got quite a way to go." And he didn't seem upset about it, or regretful about his life. For William's part, he was grateful for the company, and even more so for the help keeping the estate in order. He continued to call him 'Kevin' (after telling the other flatly that he preferred it to Uriel), and life on the Twining Estate had more or less continued as normal. Until today, of course.

"Young Master?" Kevin called politely.

"Hmm?" William raised his head from the balcony. "Oh, Kevin, it's you."

"You've received a letter from Stradford School."

"Have I? I wonder what they could want." William took the envelope warily, broke the seal, and briefly scanned the letter inside. He opened his mouth and closed it without saying a word.

Kevin watched with increasing alarm as his face cycled through every emotion imaginable before settling on bewilderment. The private letter to his master was not his business, but anything that could upset him like that was. "Young Master? What is it?"

"It's the Headmaster. He's, ah – he's appointing me as Head Boy, starting from September."

"That's wonderful! This calls for a celebration!"

"I… guess?"

"What's wrong?"

"It's just… to me, he'll always be the Head Boy. Nathan Caxton… Camio. Taking on his role wouldn't feel right."

Unexpectedly, Kevin told him, "Someone has to, and I know he'd have wanted it to be you."

William managed a smile. "I think… maybe you're right. I'll always look up to him. I promise that." Folding the letter up and placing it in his pocket, he turned back to the view of the gardens.

"Oh, one other thing. I ran into Isaac on the way up here and he asked me to tell you that he's almost ready."

"Ah. Right. Yes. Thanks."

"…What's wrong now?"

"This is a bad idea."

"No," Kevin contradicted him. "It's a very good idea."

William shot him a sharp glance. "How can you possibly say that?"

"You mean, how can I approve of my Young Master trying to summon a demon in the basement? I suppose it is a little unorthodox-"

"Kevin!"

"-but then again, I haven't seen you so fired up about something in as long as I can recall. I'm just glad that after everything you've been through, you've still got something you can smile about. Just try not to burn the mansion down while you're at it."

"Thanks for the advice," William sighed, and went to find Isaac.

* * *

The room where he had first met Dantalion had undergone a transformation, and not one he necessarily approved of. Before, it had simply been an almost-empty secret room in the basement of his mansion; its eeriness came from the fact that it was hidden and abandoned and bare and mysterious. Now, it was full-on haunted house. There was no other phrase he could use which would sum up the guttering candles in black candelabras which seemed ancient even to his old mansion, or the cloyingly sweet smell of incense that evoked visions of illness and temptation, the inscriptions chalked on the walls in what must have been a fictitious language, the great arcane circle taking centre stage with its runes and sigils drawn on the floor in what must have been stage blood, and the scattering of what he strongly hoped weren't real bones.

What he first thought was a spiteful imp hunched over the circle, adding the final chalked lines to it with the pleasant sound of nails on a blackboard, turned out to be Isaac. He also seemed to have gone in for the haunted house theme, with his ragged outdoor cloak thrown over a slightly-too-perfect fully black suit. William demanded of him, "Is all this really necessary?"

"Probably not," Isaac bounced back easily, with his usual endearing smile. "But it's my first time summoning such a high level demon, and I wanted to make sure I had everything, just in case!"

William sighed, pressed his fingers to his temples, and somehow restrained himself; he had brought this on himself, after all. "Okay. You've done a great job, Isaac, but I think I should take it from here, before you do any irreversible damage to my basement. Can you give me some space?"

"Aww, William! Why can't I stay?"

"Because it's hurtful enough to my realist's pride to be going through with something as ridiculous as this without having someone watching me make a total fool of myself at the same time."

"Alright. But… if you accidentally summon something enormous and creepy, you'll call me straight away, right?" he added hopefully.

"Sure, sure. Now let me do this on my own. Oh, and Isaac? Thank you. For all of this."

Isaac gave another of his beaming smiles, and was gone. The door swung shut behind him with a final slam, and once the echoes died away, there was utter silence in the room.

William took a deep breath and let it out again, slowly. He couldn't believe he was doing this – and he couldn't believe how determined he was to make it work, no matter how preposterous it seemed. After all, if it worked, he would get to see Dantalion again; would be able to take another step towards spending the next few years alongside all those he had come to love.

In his pocket hid Solomon's Ring. He had brought it downstairs with him in case it would help, but now that he was here, he was increasingly certain that wearing it would make little difference. For that matter, he wasn't sure he would need Isaac's summoning circle and paranormal paraphernalia either – but his friend had been so eager to help once he learned of William's plans that he hadn't been able to turn him down. He hadn't needed the ring or the elaborate witchcraft setup the first time he had summoned Dantalion, after all. There was a feeling of certainty in his heart, one that he had only recently stopped trying to find a rational explanation for, and it told him that either he would be able to do this on his own, or not at all.

If he wasn't alone, he would never have been able to go through with this; as it was, he could swallow his pride, safe in the knowledge that no one was watching him fail, and do what he felt needed to be done. Isaac had left a small knife by the side of the circle for him. Trying not to think too much about it, he pricked the end of his finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the dusty circle. There was a blinding flash of light; William raised an arm to shield his eyes an instant too late, and was left blinking ineffectually at the ceiling until the afterglow faded from his vision. The flare had settled down to a gentle glow. The runes Isaac had drawn around the edge of the circle pulsated with soft light… and waited. That would not be enough on its own, William had known that already. So he closed his eyes, raised his hand above the circle, and remembered.

He thought about Dantalion…

_The first time that they met, here, on this very spot; a serendipitous encounter he had cursed and rejected and later come to look back upon with fondness. Dantalion, not hesitating even once to throw himself in harm's way for William. Always at his side with unquestioning loyalty, and friendship, no matter how many times William had rejected him or hurt him with his narrow-minded outlook. When he caused trouble it was never malicious, and it kept things interesting; kept bringing excitement to an otherwise ordinary life. He was, in short, the best friend that anyone could ask for… and more than a friend, wasn't he?_

…and he lost himself in the memories.

_He thought about all the times Dantalion had been there when he had needed him, whether his life was in danger or if he just needed a shoulder to cry on. He had understood his grief when he had lost Camio, and they had shared their triumph when they had won their final battle. The two of them together, all that was needed to defeat the revolution – to overcome _everything._ Dantalion was strong, Dantalion was patient, and he was… _

He hardly felt the ghostly wind pick up from nowhere; didn't see the intense glow filling the chamber from behind closed eyelids.

_He remembered everything: Dantalion's fire, burning with beautiful passion; Dantalion's ego, cast aside for William's sake as soon as it became necessary; Dantalion's outfit, down to the last trimming, ridiculous even for a fancy-dress costume but somehow befitting a King of Hell; Dantalion's smile; Dantalion's laugh; the safety and warmth and security and comfort that came from being wrapped in Dantalion's arms, and the feeling of Dantalion's lips, in the single kiss he hadn't had the chance to return…_

But he did hear the voice, the one that he knew better than his own, even when it was overlaid with surprise and amazement and wonder and incredulity and sheer dumbfounded happiness.

"William?"

_No, Dantalion might not want to spend so much time in the human world. He might not be able to. But it was certainly worth trying for. Change was inevitable, but it didn't always have to be for the worst. It wasn't that William feared the future – only that he didn't see why he should have to give up his present for it. He would take on that future and all that it might bring to protect the wonderful life that he shared with those he loved for as long as he possibly could._

And William opened his eyes and let his hand fall to his side and smiled with the singular brilliance of the rising dawn.

"Hello again, Dantalion."


End file.
